


We Don't Need to Whisper

by staylucky



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anxiety, Chris is a cheeky little so and so, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-22 21:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staylucky/pseuds/staylucky
Summary: Isak Valtersen is a new teacher at Bekkulaget with an embarrassing crush on the Head of Upper Juniors, Even Bech Naesheim. His mentor, Christoffer, is constantly winding him up and Isak's beginning to doubt if teaching is for him.





	1. The Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> Thank you so much to Berey aka @evasheim for her awesome prompt: “AU where they’re both teachers at the same school and there is a lot of pining/sexual tensions.”
> 
> I’ve written a rather long pre-face to this fic and I suggest you read it because I’ve spoken about different terms used in education, the Nordic system v British system re teacher training and teaching itself, how I’ll be using both Nordic and British ways in the fic, plus some info on the characters, so I think you’ll find it helpful to read before going into the story <333
> 
> I hope you like the story, please do give me feedback as it all motivates my lazy ass & I appreciate it dearly <3333
> 
> Title is taken from an Angels & Airwaves album and I'll be using some lyrics from different songs off that album to begin each chapter.

 

**PRE-FACE**

I have researched the Norwegian education system and will use some of it, but I'm using the British educational system too, so it's a weird hybrid. I'm doing this because, well, it's my story, and I can do as I like lmao so this is what I've researched and how I'll be using it in the fic.

In Norway, elementary school _Barneskole_ educates children aged 6-13 years old. I am using these terms in the fic but I am changing the years, using the British educational system, so in this school they have Reception (children aged 4/5), Year 1 (5/6), Year 2 (6/7), Year 3 (7/8), Year 4 (8/9), Year 5 (9/10) and Year 6 (Y6 is for kids aged 10/11). It's like the grades used in the Norwegian system, I guess, so Reception = Grade 1, and so on. This school, whilst set in Oslo, will be pre-school/nursery (2-3 years old) up to 10/11 years old (Year 6) drawing on the U.K primary school system.

Both primary/elementary systems (Nordic and British) teach a broad range of subjects, so all teachers in this fic will teach a variety of subjects such as geography, history, Maths, English, religion, art, etc.

In Norway, a primary school teacher up to Grade 4 (Year 4 equivalent in the U.K, ish?) is called a _barnehagelÃ¦rer._

Vilde and Mahdi will teach Nursery or pre-school we could call it here (2-3 years old) (Vilde) and Reception (4 to 5 years old) (Mahdi) so I'll refer to them as the Nursery / Reception teachers.

Girl!Chris, Eva and Magnus are what we would call infant/lower juniors teachers. Girl!Chris will teach Year 1, Eva will teach Year 2 and Magnus will teach Year 3 so here I'll call them the _barnehagelÃ¦rer_ teachers or just refer to them as the Y1/Y2/Y3 teacher.

Chris, Isak and Even are the upper junior teachers. I'm a bit confused here as apparently in Norway you're a _barnehagelÃ¦rer_ up to Grade 4 of elementary school, but in the U.K you're just a primary teacher from Reception - Y6 however you can specialise e.g. a Primary Teacher with a Maths specialism, or Infant Juniors, or Upper Juniors. I think for the sakes of not getting too caught up in logistics I'll refer to all teachers at this school as _barnehagelÃ¦rer_ when using Norwegian terms, but in general, they're all primary (elementary) teachers. In the U.K we split our primary schools into infant juniors (Reception - Y3) and upper juniors (Y4 - Y6).

I found out that in 2009 Norwegian policy makers and teachers found that Norway was underperforming in comparison to other Scandinavian countries which is relevant as to why Isak becomes a teacher. According to the European Agency, you train like this to become a teacher in Norway:

_**Pre-school teacher education** (three-year) qualifies for educational work in kindergartens and the first year of the primary school. Addition of one years relevant further education, qualifies pre-school teachers for work in the first to fourth year. _

**_General teacher education_ ** _(four-year) qualifies for teaching in the primary and lower secondary school and in adult education at the corresponding level._

**_Subject teacher education_ ** _(three-year and four-year) qualifies for teaching of subjects at the primary and lower secondary school, at the upper secondary school, in adult education and for other cultural work with children and adolescents.�_

For the purposes of fic, Vilde, Mahdi, Eva, Girl!Chris and Magnus will have studied a _pre-school teacher education_ (3 degrees) degree. Isak, Chris and Even _studied general teacher education_ for four years. In the U.K you study for three years (generally) at university and then take a PGCE to become a qualified teacher (the PGCE lasts one year). We also use Key Stages, at primary level we have three: Foundation Stage, Key Stage 1 and Key Stage 2. I may refer to them in the fic: foundation will be Mahdi and Eva, Key Stage 1 will be Girl!Chris and Magnus, Key Stage 2 will be Chris, Isak and Even.

In Norway, university is free, but in the U.K we pay up to Â£9,000 per year for tuition. For teachers, we do give out grants for shortage subjects (Sciences, Maths, etc) and they can go up to £25,000 (for one year's training!) tax free, so you can really rake it in if you're a smart Science/Maths student (got a first or 2:1 at university) if you go on to train as a teacher. We give grants for English, Modern Languages, R.E teachers too but it's Science and Maths that give out the highest grants. This doesn't happen in Norway but it does happen for Isak in the fic.

I'll refer to TAs in this fic, a TA is a Teaching Assistant and they just help the teacher out, maybe with specific kids who might have difficulties, we also have HLTAs (higher learning teaching assistants) who can teach a class unsupervised if necessary.

I'll be using the Nordic system of no testing at primary school (WHAT THE HELL, NORWAY??? WHAT IS THIS UTOPIA???) in the U.K we test extensively at primary school, but I'm scrapping that for the Norwegian dream.

Specific differences between Norwegian/British system that I'll be using:

-Norwegian term starts mid-August, in England we begin back in September and finish in July. I'll be using British term times

-In Norway, students call their teachers by their first names. In the U.K we use Miss ____/Mr ___. It's common for kids to drop your surname and just call you Miss or Sir, and common for other teachers to call their colleague(s) Miss or Sir rather than by their name. I'll be using titles and/or titles and surnames

-Kids wear school uniforms, I'm sorry, you'll have to grasp that uniform obsession out of my cold dead British hands -

-There will be a Bonfire Night celebration which we celebrate in the U.K on the 5th November. This sums it up: <http://www.bonfirenight.net/> but for anyone who has no idea of what it is, basically we celebrate an attempted blow up of parliament (yeah, it's weird), a man called Guy Fawkes attempted to plot up parliament (religious disputes) he didn't succeed but we celebrate it every year with fireworks and often big bonfires, held in parks or people' gardens, etc. We also make Guy Fawkes scarecrows (well, it's common for children to do so at schools, or if you live in a village, it's very common) and put these on the bonfires

-They play rounders in Chapter 1. I have no idea if that's common in others countries but here you go (<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rounders> , yes it's wiki but who really cares?!) it's basically baseball, I guess, although I don't know the rules of baseball, but British kids love rounders!

For teachers in the U.K, observations are graded. Grade 1 is Outstanding, Grade 2 good, Grade 3 requires improvement, Grade 4 is inadequate so I'll refer to some of these. I don't know if anything like this is used in Norway but I'm guessing not, especially not for Barneskole as the kids aren't even tested so I doubt the teachers are, but I have no idea.

Even is the Head of Upper Juniors (Key Stage 2) and the Headteacher is just an original character.

Jonas will feature in this story but not as a teacher, his role will be Family Mentor, he's basically a counsellor and organises ways to include children's families into the school environment, he isn't around in the first chapter but he will come into play!

This school is called _Bekkulaget skole_ which is a fictional name for a fictional school in Oslo.

 *

 

**CHAPTER ONE**

_I'm the first to know, my dearest friends_  
_Even if your hope has burned with time_  
_Anything that's dead shall be regrown_  
_And your vicious pain, your warning sign_  
_You will be fine_

The Adventure - Angels & Airwaves

 

It's a crisp September morning as Isak grabs his keys and sets off for the short drive to his new school, _Bekkulaget_. After four long years of training he is qualified and raring to go, if not for the first day nerves that make his stomach roll unpleasantly. Eskild had waved him off like a proud Mother, which Isak supposes Eskild is, in a roundabout way. He has a good feeling about Bekkulaget. As soon as he stepped through the quaint doors at his interview to meet the headmistress, Else, a vibrant woman that Isak would guess is well into her forties, he felt at ease. His microteach went successfully, Isak being used to being observed, despite the fact observations are always stressful. There can be days, weeks, where your kids are the most funny, charming, inquisitive kids on earth but you can bet once an observer walks in Thomas and Christoffer will start a fight, Ingrid will pick her nose openly and wipe it on hypochondriac Henrik who promptly begins to weep and Anna, your star student, will suddenly forget how to add two plus two.

Still, Isak knows the key is confidence and flexibility and has spent four long years trying to get it right.

He likes the feel of Bekkulaget more than the other schools he interviewed at by a country mile. They have a family mentor, a 'Garden of Peace' for children to escape to if needs be and the first thing Isak clocked upon entering was a _LGBT HEROES_ board, pictures of well-known LGBT individuals from across the world plastered on the wall from politicians to artists. Isak had noticed that there was a personalised section where children had clearly drawn pictures and comments about their parents, Uncles, Aunties, sisters, brothers.

_My gay brother is my hero, I love him - Britt_

_I love my two Mamas - Jakob_

Isak's eyes were also drawn to some more formal looking pictures with captions underneath them, one particular picture of a smiling, blonde man with blue eyes and large blonde hair. Isak's eyes had lingered on the photo before he read the text underneath it.

 _i_ _'m Even, Head of Upper Juniors and Bekkulaget's Year 6 Teacher. I came out as pansexual five years ago. It can be difficult to accept your sexuality but it is far better to live honestly than live a lie. I am proud to be LGBT and I hope every LGBT+ child grows up knowing they are loved_.

Isak had smiled softly, glad the Head was allowing him to read rather than rushing him on.

"Lovely board, isn't it?" she prompted, reading it herself, Isak nodding in agreement.

_"I'm Chris, Year 4 Teacher, confirmed legend. I'm 5'11, I'm allergic to eggs, I'm bisexual. #LOVEISLOVE_

Isak grinned at that one, looking at the picture of a smiling guy with dark hair.

_Halla, I'm Eva. I teach in Lower Infants. I'm bisexual and married to my beautiful wife, Noora. I am honoured to feature on Bekkulaget's LGBT Heroes board. All LGBT people are heroes! We may be lucky to live in Oslo and be accepted but there is still hate towards LGBT people here and across the world. I am sometimes afraid to hold my wife's hand in public. I dream of a world where one day we will be truly free._

Isak looked at her photo, a pretty, grinning girl looking back at him with an adjacent picture of her in a long, white wedding dress, kissing a blonde woman with red lips.

"I think this is a wonderful idea," Isak said, unable to stop himself, feeling a sense of gay solidarity coming on. It had taken him long enough to accept he was gay and now he was a hound for it, able to sniff out anything remotely gay and attach himself to it proudly.

"It is, it's very important," Else said, "we're very big on LGBT equality. LGBT, minorities, women's rights.. kids need to know how to treat others with respect."

"I agree," Isak added, "to know being gay, or bisexual, or trans, it's absolutely normal."

"Exactly," Else said, animated, "so many lives hurt and lost due to lack of education, lack of acceptance."

Isak didn't want to bang the drum too hard and he had left it there but it boosted his confidence hugely, setting him in the right frame of mind for the rest of the interview.

Now, he is here, starting officially. He can't help but grin as he taps himself in on the computer at reception before being greeted by the LGBT Heroes board and wondering if he'll be a feature on it soon. He makes his way to Else's office after being instructed that she will briefly show him the tour again and to his classroom when someone gently touches his back, Isak turning to see one of the faces on the _LGBT HEROES_ board.

"Isak?" Even asks. It takes Isak a split-second to get over how beautiful Even is in the flesh, even more so than his photo. He nods, not wanting to stare open-mouthed in silence and give a man who, putting aside his attractiveness is his colleague and senior, the impression he's some airheaded fool.

"It's Valtersen, yes?"

"It is, yes," Isak confirms, Even breaking out into a grin, still holding Isak's arm softly.

"Else couldn't make it this morning to show you around so it's my duty as Head of Upper ," Even shrugs, still smiling, "I hope that's not too disappointing for you?"

"Ah, well, yeah, I mean, Else and I definitely had a bond, when I interviewed, so," Isak jokes, Even opening his mouth in mock shock.

"You're hitting up Else?!"

"Yeah, well," he smiles, Even laughing.

"Older ladies for you, huh?"

"Um, I..," Isak says, wanting to make a witty comment. _Older, sure, but ladies, not so much._ The words get stuck in his throat. He may be queer and here but he still gets tongue tied, anxiety of old creeps back and tries to claim him. Even is assessing him, Isak can feel it and he feels shy under the older man's gaze.

"So, the staffroom, I'll introduce you," Even encourages. Isak nods, letting Even hold the door open for him as they make their way in. There's an excitement, Isak can feel it, the start of a new term, new possibilities. Isak recognises the pretty bisexual woman and the pretty bisexual guy, the woman sat grinning as she talks with a blonde haired girl, the bisexual guy engrossed in his phone. There's biscuits being passed around and a flurry of activity near the photocopier.

"Ladies, gentlemen," Even says in a booming voice , "this is Isak Valtersen, our new Year 5 teacher," he says, large hand almost taking Isak out as he gestures to Isak dramatically.

"Hi," Isak waves awkwardly, met with a lot of friendly "halla!"s and smiles.

"Year 5? You're Upper Juniors?" a tall, floppy haired blonde inquires, offering him a biscuit. Isak shakes his head politely, unable to eat.

"Yeah," he confirms.

"Cool, I'm Magnus, I'm Year 3."

"Er, Chris?" Even asks, the guy on his phone putting it down with seemingly great effort to look up at Even.

"You'll be Isak's mentor, seeing as he's fresh out of training," Even says. Isak smiles at Chris, making his way over, a little disturbed by the way Chris looks at both Even and Isak with slight distaste.

"A mentor?"

"I can't mentor him," Even shrugs, "I don't have the time."

"Fine," Chris groans, "you seen your classroom?" he asks Isak, who nods. He did see it briefly but he isn't sure if he can locate again on his own.

"I'll babysit him, Even, it's cool," Chris says, elegantly pushing himself up to go and throw away his bubblegum.

Even turns to face Isak, Isak determined to be able to hold eye contact with him. Even seems to read his entire face in the space of seconds, his face close to Isak's, eyes on his, eyes on Isak's mouth, for the briefest of seconds, until he grins.

"If you have any questions you can come to me, Isak," Even says, "I'm sorry I can't be your official mentor but you can always come and speak to me, I will find the time."

"I'd apologise too, if I were forcing _Chris_ on the new baby teacher," Eva giggles, eyes rolling.

"Shut up, Eva," Chris tuts, "the new baby will be fine. Come on, blondie," he says to Isak, who smiles at Even and Eva before following Chris.

"Right, so, here are Year 4 pegs, Year 5 pegs, obviously, they hang up their coats and bags here," Chris says, Isak looking over with a nod, "and your classroom, blondie," he grins, Isak walking in. It's odd to have your own classroom, to know it's yours. Isak's territorial over his classrooms, loves decorating them, but as a trainee he's always had to share and this time it's actually his. He's the official teacher, it's _his_ name on the classroom door.

He doesn't expect Chris to remain, much less shut the classroom door behind them, striding over to the teacher's desk where he plonks himself down in the black, spinning chair.

"Your first year teaching, huh?" Chris asks, Isak nodding. He walks over and inspects the markers, running a hand over the smartboard, wondering if h'll be able to use it and thinking about how embarrassing it will be if the kids are better at it than he is. He always seem to have poor luck with technology.

"You're gay, right?" Chris asks. Isak's attention is caught by that, looking over at Chris, who eyes him with interest. Isak isn't sure what _kind_ of interest.

"Why - I mean - I am," Isak rushes out, having spent too much of his life avoiding that question, afraid, and he's determined to not be in the closet anymore, I just, I don't -"

"Chill," Chris shrugs, "I'm nosy, and it's obvious." 

Isak bristles, folding his arms, "what does that mean?"

"I mean," Chris drags it out, "it's _obvious_ you're a cute little gay."

"Right," Isak frowns, "I don't think - I think you're being a little -"

" - ok, don't be an uptight asshole, blondie," Chris sighs, "oh, you can go on the LGBT Heroes board, dude!"

Isak tries not to grin at that, not wanting Chris to realise how soft he gets with that board, how it made him fall for _Bekkulaget_ in the first place.

"Are you a full gay or a half gay?" Chris asks, Isak scoffing, "wow."

"You're a full one," Chris surmises, grinning, "nice. We need a full one. We've got a half gay guy, half gay girl, and whatever Even is," Chris shrugs.

"You know, you could use the actual terms people identify themselves as? Bisexual, pansexual?"

"Don't tell me how to label myself, curly boy," Chris tuts, amused. Isak wants to dislike him, he's obviously irritating, frustrating, but Isak finds himself grinning anyway.

"Yeah, so, the class I'm inheriting from Magnus is cool, I won't need my TA all the time so you have her to help you out in the afternoons, if you like," Chris offers. Isak nods, grateful for any help he can get. He remembers what his placement mentor told him: always accept help and treat your TAs like gold, don't be a hero and try to do it all alone.

"Thanks, floppy boy," Isak pouts, Chris looking at him in horror.

"What did you just call me?"

"What, so, you can call me curls but I can't reference _your_ hair?"

"Don't call me _floppy boy,_ bro, what the hell," Chris frowns, shocked, "kids are gonna get here soon. You got any questions yet?"

"I'm good," Isak nods. He had read up on the school's policies over summer, after being offered the job and Else had been excellent answering his follow up questions. He feels ready for this, ready for his new start here.

"Sweet, see ya, then," Chris sing-songs, pushing himself to his feet and wandering out. Isak feels a wave of nerves crash through him but nothing he can't handle. It will always be slightly odd to him, looking after a class full of children, being responsible for their welfare and education, but there's no other job quite like it. Isak took advantage of the generous grants being given out to exceptionally smart high school students. It made sense to study teacher training at university knowing he could pocket that kind of money, especially considering his parents weren't supporting him financially anymore. In all honesty, it's not a career Isak would have picked first, but he had genuinely enjoyed his time training and was looking forward to being a fully fledged teacher.

His heartbeat picks up as the kids begin to pile in, parents fussing, coats being hung up and small backpacks left on the floor, only for Mothers and Fathers to complain and help them hang them up properly. Isak stands in front of his classroom door, ready to introduce himself, and sure enough, parents want to meet the new teacher that will be in charge of their children. He gets smiles and handshakes and questions, answering them jovially, conscious of putting his best foot forward and making a good first impression.

It's 9.10am, parents dwindling, until there are none, just Isak and an audience of nine and ten year olds that he has to win over. He stands at the front of the classroom, looks out at them all, and smiles.

"Hello, Year 5," he says, getting a chorus of hello's and halla's back.

"My name is Mr. Valtersen and I'm new to Bekkulaget," he tells them, "is anyone here new too?"

The small faces all look round, a little chatter as they try to identify anyone new, but it doesn't appear there are any newbies, only Isak.

"Well," he claps his hands, "you're all going to have to help me, aren't you?"

"I'll help you, Mr. Valtersen," an eager boy promises, I can show you EVERYWHERE, I know everything!"

"Shut up, Erik," a little girl says, "I can help, Sir."

"Well, I will need everyone's help," Isak says, "and it's not polite to tell someone to shut up, is it?"

The little girl sulks, but backs down. Isak realising he's shaking slightly as he sees Chris come in, holding a huge blue book.

"Here you go, Sir," he tells Isak, handing it to him, the kids excited and clambering over themselves for Chris.

"Sir! Mr Schistad! Did you have a good summer, Sir? We're Year 5 now, Sir!" they shout, Chris settling them with a look, his hands raised.

"Ok, Year 5, we'll catch up at break, when I'm on duty, yes? You need to listen to Mr. Valtersen and show him how good you are. I've told him how polite, and clever, and lovely you all are," Chris says, before winking at Isak and trotting off to his own classroom.

"That's true, Year 5," Isak says, slightly exaggerated, "Mr. Schistad told me you're a very well mannered class. Is that true?"

He receives a lot of "yes, it's true!'"s and nods, hands in the air as they try to get his attention, Isak settling them down with a show of his own hands.

"I'm going to take the register but I need a very sensible volunteer to help me," he says, eyeing the class. He hasn't been able to get his hands on his class profile yet but he makes a mental note to catch up with Chris and get the lowdown on this group as soon as possible.

"Please, me, please!" the eager boy from earlier, Erik, begs.

"Ok, Erik, up you come," Isak encourages, smiling as he watches the boy practically run over, so keen to make a good impression.

He enjoys the first morning, playing 'get to know you' games with the class and setting class expectations. He much prefers upper juniors, when kids have a little more awareness of themselves and others; it certainly has it challenges but it's better than infants. He trials out what he's done before with class rules, getting learners to make their own, which produces some bizarre results. He gets each table to feedback to see what they've decided. The usuals, which Isak always insist on, are present: listen to your teacher, respect each other, be kind to each other, work hard but there are some abnormalities among them, including "maths is banned","friday is dinosaur day!' and "boys aren't allowed to speak to girls, because boys suck."

"Ok, Malin, that's not very nice to say about boys, is it?," Isak says diplomatically, "we all need to speak to each other and be friends, don't we?"

Malin scrunches her nose, but the class drown out out by agreeing with Isak.

It's a whirlwind, as it always is, teaching, but an enormously fun whirlwind. Isak feels like the entire day has last twelve minutes, not six hours and by the time he's sent the children home, parents coming in dribs and drabs to pick them up, he's buzzing, on a high.

"Isak!" he hears, turning round to see Even, flushed and happy in a sports top and a pair of navy shorts. Isak laughs, taking in Even's long legs and what he thinks might be strong, hard abs under the tight white top before quickly averting his eyes.

"How was your first day?" Even asks, and yes, he's panting, breathless, slightly sweaty, clearly finishing his day with a P.E class. Isak presses against the wall near his classroom door.

"It was great," Isak shrugs, "they're nice kids."

"I heard that from Chris," Even gasps, "sorry, I've been playing football with mine," Even gestures to his clothes, drawing Isak's eyes back to the tight t-shirt and short shorts.

"I' m going to do some admin," Isak suggests, not wanting to stay too long with Even as he feels his face warm, "thanks for checking in, Even."

"Sure," Even nods. Isak enjoys the fact Even's taller than him, it forces Isak to look up, to see bright eyes, soft, large lips, but, _no_ , he will not allow himself to fall in lust with his senior. Isak knows how embarrassing he is around people he develops crushes on and he can't let Even fall victim to that. Isak stumbles back into the classroom, swearing silently to himself as he practically trips up, Even still there, obviously watching him as he makes his way to his desk.

"Even," Isak hears Chris, "bro, you look ridiculous. You need to lift some weights. You're skinny."

"I've been working out," Isak hears Even scoff, "look."

Isak can't help but look to the corridor, annoyed that Even must have stepped forward to show Chris - what? - his chest, perhaps, his stomach, to prove Chris wrong. Isak really wants to kick himself for leaving when he hears Chris wolf-whistle, long and low.

"Nice, get all the boys and girls going," Chris laughs. Isak can't hear the rest of their conversation, all mumbles, until he hears Even cackle.

"Where's my curly boy?" Chris asks, jumping forward to eye Isak, who quickly falls back in seat after leaning forward, desperate to hear more from them.

"Oh, it's you, floppy," Isak says, faux disappointed. He hears Even laugh, reappearing, still glistening and full of energy, "what did you call him, Isak? _Floppy_?!"

"It's a hair joke," Chris snaps defensively, hair indeed flopping, Even smiling, open mouthed.

"Is it a hair joke?" Isak asks, pretending to be confused. It's worth it as Even's eyes crinkle shut with laughter, making him look carefree and joyful.

Chris flips Isak the finger and it makes Isak giggle, a rush of acceptance, of being able to mock and be mocked cementing his place in Upper Juniors. It continues along those lines, as Autumn comes, bringing its red and oranges and mustard yellows, leaves constantly all across the school yard which bring the children so much excitement and Isak settles happily into life at Bekkulaget. It's a busy, bustling, bright school and Isak is desperate to keep up with it, throwing himself in after school dance club, Science Club and anything else he can get his hands on.

"You're happy here," Even says one day, setting a boiling hot cup of tea down next to Isak as he reads the school's latest newsletter in the staffroom. Isak looks at the tea, confused, as he didn't ask for it, but he takes it, sipping lightly.

"Oh, that's perfect," he says, sighing, "thank you, Even."

Even takes the seat next to him, close but not too close, Isak feeling himself want to squirm. Even's a constant at school, a popular teacher with all the energy in the world, an uplifting yet calming presence amongst the happy chaos. Isak often finishes work and as he's on his way out, Even's sat at his desk, marking, planning. A few times, Even's caught him, stood there like a deer in the headlights and Isak gapes, flounders, before settling on a goodbye wave. Even returns it with a smile.

"Are you coming for end of term drinks next Friday?" Even asks. Isak blinks a few times before he admits he did't know about it.

"Well, this is a formal invitation," Even confirms, "Isak Valtersen, please join the rest Bekkulaget's degenerates for drinks next Friday."

"Ah," Isak laughs, "ok, thank you. I think I can," he nods, knowing he will absolutely go. He's not the most sociable, not in a group, but everyone is pleasant and welcoming and it's a way to see Even outside of teaching hours. Isak sees Chris in his eyeline, listening in as he prints at the photocopier, both Even and Isak turning when Chris scoffs, wanting their attention.

"Yes?" Even asks, amused, Chris showing his teeth as he grins.

"I bet you're the biggest lightweight going, Valtersen," Chris says, eyeing Isak up and down, "you're tiny, and boring."

"I'm boring?" Isak asks, used to Chris's teasing by now, but refuting the suggestion all the same.

"Come on," Chris says, "you do more extracurricular activities than Even, so, you clearly have no life outside of school. When's the last time you got laid?"

"Fuck you," Isak says, wanting to be teasing but it comes out harsh. Isak hates the way he knows his face is flushing. Chris is fun, and playful, but Isak doesn't want his sex life or lack of it discussed in front of Even, Chris just laughing at what he interprets at Isak's prudishness.

"Appropriateness, Chris," Even warns, "it's not - "

"I - I get laid," Isak blurts out, unable to stand it, "I just happen to like this school, and I like dance, and I like Science, and I still have a life, and have sex, so..."

Even and Chris look at him curiously until Isak knows the blush is bright and invasive on his cheeks, before sighing angrily, hot and bothered, shame spreading through his body as he grabs his workbooks and promptly knocks the mug of hot tea all over Even's lap.

"Ah - fuck! -" Even yelps, jumping up, the mug splattering to the ground, Isak jumping back too.

"Oh my god, Even, I'm so sorry," Isak gasps, horrified, Even attempting to hold his trousers away from his skin, groaning in pain, before heading off, Isak on his heels, nervous.

"Even, I'm so sorry," he pants, Even's face contorted in pain, "don't worry, it was an accident," he manages to say as words of comfort, heading for the hall, the very back, where they house lost property and teacher's gym kits for sports.

"Are you ok? Was it boiling?" Isak asks, upset with himself for being so clumsy. Even unzips his trousers, pulling them off carefully, Isak throwing his workbooks down before kneeling, helping Even out of them. Even looks at him and there's the briefest look of shock on his face but it disappears quickly, Isak pulling them all the way down. He realises this is not a position he should be in and he momentarily wonders what Even must think, looking at him like this, helpless and on his knees, face dangerously close to Even's crotch. Even slips off his shoes, making it possible for him to get rid of the trousers entirely, Isak gathering them with his hands and looking at them pathetically, afraid to look up.

"I don't think it's too bad," Even mutters. Isak dares to look, seeing Even's thigh turning a shocking shade of red.

"I'll get you a cloth, some water," Isak says, happy to find an excuse to get back up, touched as Even holds out his hand to hoist Isak back to his feet. Isak jogs out of the lost property cabinet and into the hall, rushing down to find the water fountain and tissues which he grabs, wetting them, before returning to Even.

"Here," he says, mentally kicking himself as he drops down and resumes position to tend to Eve's slight burn. He can tell immediately Even feels awkward, Isak raised on his knees as he dabs at the burn on Even's thigh and Isak can see the bulge, there's no mistaking it, certainly not hard but Even's obviously blessed, physically, in that department. _This is not good,_ Isak thinks, _I need to stop thinking about how big his dick is, even flaccid, Jesus Christ. I'm helping a friend, a colleague, who's been hurt_ , _that's all_. He's careful, wanting to apply a little pressure, sooth it for Even, risking a look upwards. Even's looking down at him, hungrily, eyes not on his burnt thigh but on Isak.

"Does it feel ok?" Isak asks, watching Even's adam apple move as he swallows something, before he nods curtly.

"Thank you, Isak," Even says, "maybe it's best if you go, the kids will be here..." he trails off, Isak biting his lip and nodding, allowing Even to look through some of the gym shorts they all borrow before finding a pair in his size.

"I am so sorry," Isak repeats as he gets to his feet, "am I still invited, Friday?"

"Of course," Even smiles, "it was an accident, bay - Isak - it was an accident," Even rushes, turning back around as he dresses himself, Isak stumbling out and quickly making his way to his classroom. He feels his stomach flip at their last interaction, sure Even was going to call him _babe_ or _baby_ , but he knows it's entirely inappropriate. He probably misheard.

Chris is in his room as he gets there, helping himself to Isak's mints.

"Chris, get out," Isak tuts, Chris looking at him before bursting into laughter.

"What is it?" Isak asks, irritated. It's Chris's fault this happened, it was Chris who made Isak flustered in the first place.

"It was just spilt tea, curly boy, you didn't need to blow him in apology for it."

"What?" Isak asks, mortified, Chris indicating with a nod, Isak looking down, seeing very obvious dust marks on his knees from the dirty floor, an extremely visual and obvious sign he's been kneeling.

"Oh, hilarious," Isak says sarcastically, furiously wiping himself down, "I was just trying to help!"

"Oh, and I'm _sure_ you helped, Isak," Chris says lewdly, grabbing even more mints and shoving them in his mouth before wandering off. Isak groans, hating himself this morning. It's never a good idea to go into the morning in a mood, Isak knows this, finding himself snapping at kids for little to no reason, guilt creeping in when he hears Erik whisper to Hege, " _M_ _r. Valtersen is sad today_." He's just glad the day is over with quickly, that Kari, the TA he shares with Chris, is amazing, and manages to inject a little life into the day when she arrives in the afternoon. He leaves her with the class supervising an Art session to go and get some water, his head thumping painfully.

Of course Even's in the staffroom, putting down the phone and sighing. Isak's eyes immediately travel to Even's thigh, the burn obvious and glaring.

"Ah, Isak," Even says, walking over, "I, er, I need to speak with you, actually."

Isak's anxiety screams, rushing straight to his head, making him feel faint.

"Oh, sure?"

"I should have told you, but Erik Negaard? His parents are intense," Even makes a face, "anyway, we have this every year, but she thinks he's not being challenged enough by you? She wants a meeting next week."

"Oh," is all Isak manages, embarrassment curling around him, voices that gripped him during university that told him he's not good enough, he's no teacher, he's not a natural, he can't help anyone, familiar and loud as they rise from their dormant sleep.

"Please don't worry," Even says, a large hand coming to Isak's arm, "she does this to every teacher, every year. I'll get it next year. I just need to appease her by having this meeting, ok? I promise it's no reflection on you, we know you're great."

Isak can't even take comfort in the squeeze Even gives him. He knows that this can happen, kids who become fixated on you, either with love or hate, parents who don't care, parents who care too much, but he still feels the hot shame and self-doubt that he manages to keep at bay is now loud and proud and screaming in his head.

"I have to head off," Even smiles apologetically, "I've scheduled it for after school Friday, it will just me, you, and her. Nothing to worry about!", he promises, and with that he's gone, leaving Isak stood helplessly in the staffroom. He suddenly doesn't feel like he needs water, too full of fear, his throat dry. The urge to cry is coming, Isak knows that, knows that hot, invasive tears want to spill down his cheeks at the powerlessness he feels as his anxiety knocks him to his knees.

He keeps it down, swallows tightly, going back to Kari and the kids, clock watching as the day rolls to an end.

"Thanks Kari," he mutters as the last parents arrive and take their children, "I'm feeling a little sick today."

"No problem," she smiles, elbowing him gently, "see you tomorrow, Isak."

Isak has learnt to cope despite the fear. It's always present and it will always be powerful but, after a rocky first year at university, he knew it was no way to live. He can't fall apart because of one potentially negative comment, or experience and he manages to box away the dread he feels to plan a fun, interesting week for the class. They go outside and draw the new flowers that are blooming in the Garden of Peace, they bring in pictures of grandparents and siblings and discuss new words like _compassion_ , _empathy_. They play 'Unfortunately' / 'Fortunately' which Isak records as an exercise in being appreciative and imaginative.

_"_ _Unfortunately, I HATE Maths!"_

_"_ _Fortunately, Maths helps us understand money which we need when we're bigger."_

_"U_ _nfortunately, my Mama said Hilde can't come to play at my house after school."_

_"_ _Fortunately, you can play with Hilde at school at break, Rita."_

It's Isak's favourite game to play with them when he's looking for a time filler and the class latch on to it nicely. He realises an hour's passed, the kids giggling and thinking hard of the most ridiculous things they can imagine and with that he also realises that it's been an hour since he thought of the impending day of doom. The great thing about teaching is that when you're in the classroom, you're too busy, too consumed by the people in front of you who need so much from you that the voices in your head that demand attention are forcibly sidelined until the classroom is empty.

He speaks to Chris about it, as his mentor, disappointed when the first thing Chris does is laugh.

"Mrs. Negaard is an asshole," Chris tells him as they sit and mark together in Isak's classroom, "just flirt with her, it's fine."

"Ok, I'm not flirting with her," Isak narrows his eyes, "do you think I'm doing anything wrong? You've observed me."

"You're doing good," Chris says, serious for once, "and it's not hard flirting with girls, curls. I know you're strictly dickly but it's easy."

"I can flirt with girls," Isak says hotly, "women, even. She's a woman."

"Semantics," Chris shrugs.

"You're a grown man, how would you like it if everyone referred to you as a boy all the time, hmm?"

"I don't care. Are you a feminist?"

"Isn't everyone?"

"Sure," Chris shrugs, grinning.

"Well, it's this week," Isak mutters, stamping a smiley face on Kenneth's Biology notes, "it's just, embarrassing, you know?"

"No," Chris scrunches his nose up, stamping the same thing in all of the books, barely reading them, unless he reads super fast, "I don't get embarrassed."

"Of course not," Isak rolls his eyes, "you're just perfect, aren't you?"

Chris's eyes glitter playfully at that.

"No, that's Even," he says with a smirk.

"Even?"

"Yeah, Mr. Perfect," Chris says, smiling at Isak like he knows all of Isak's secrets.

"Ok," Isak laughs, diverting his attention to the books in front of him. There isn't a tonne of marking, kids aren't tested in _Barneskole_ but it's good practice anyway. Isak might retrain in the future to lecture and he wants to be used to marking if he ever does do that.

"You like Even, yeah?" Chris asks. Isak scoffs, defences up immediately, even if Chris looks soft rather than his constant smirk that indicates he's about to tease and flirt his way through the conversation as usual.

"What? No - I mean - I like Even, he's so helpful, a great teacher, he's funny but that's - that - no," Isak protests, keeping his eyes off Chris.

"Ok then," Chris says, clearly unconvinced, falling into an easy silence as they work. Isak is about to begin his protesting again, uncomfortable with the silence when Even strides into his room. He pulls off the smart casual look effortlessly with white jeans and a plaid top, even if Chris scoffs at the jeans, blessedly keeping his smart remarks to himself.

"Er, Isak, an idea," Even says, excited, "tomorrow afternoon, Year 5 versus Year 6, rounders? A friendly game to finish term," Even claps his hands together, "if you've nothing planned, anyway."

"Year 4 versus Year 5 versus Year 6," Chris suggests, face lighting up, "let me play!"

"That's too many kids out there," Even shakes his head, "no, it should be Year 5 versus Year 6."

" _F_ _y faen_ , why not me? Why him?" Chris asks petulantly, face screwed up as he scowls at Isak.

"Because I asked Isak," Even says, hands on hips, looking very authoritative, Isak notes, "what do you say, Mr. Valtersen?"

"Sure," Isak grins. He isn't the sportiest of guys but rounders isn't hard, he's confident he can breeze it and not make a fool out of himself in front of Even, plus the kids will be happy to be outside and competing against Year 6.

"Great! Sorted!" Even says, satisfied,"I'll see you then. I'm competitive, by the way," he adds, smirking, Chris clicking his tongue.

"He is competitive," he confirms to Isak, "at least you've got long legs, so you can run fast."

"Stop checking out my legs, Schistad," Isak sneers.

"Only when you stop checking out _this_ ," Chris says, pointing to his face, "I should get you a wet floor sign for your floor, it's embarrassing now, Isak."

"Ok, you clearly don't understand male biology, which is worrying," Isak begins, exaggerated, "and, especially for someone who has sex with both men and women, I'm slightly concerned." 

"You are such a girl," Chris continues, enjoying the wind up, seeing that Isak's about to lecture him on using 'girl' in a pejorative manner when Eva knocks on his door.

"Why are you _so_ popular?" Chris asks Isak, exasperated, "we're trying to work, Eva."

"Nice to see you too," Eva raises her eyebrows, "um, I just wanted to say hey, really, it's been a while and I've not been around to welcome you Isak, I feel bad."

"He's been here for almost two months, you're the worst," Chris shakes his head, Isak pushing himself away from the desk to go and speak to her, gesturing for her to come in.

"Wow, it looks so good in here!" she smiles, admiring the work Isak's put into making the classroom his own. He has variations of the Year 5 Class Rules, Art work, stories, poems, Science experiment write ups, class portraits... Isak is certainly keen on the room reflecting him and reflecting the students in it. He has a 'People We Love' board for a project the class did on love and kindness which Eva gasps at, cooing, before bursting out laughing.

"What?"

"Um," she says, pointing, and Isak sees there's a small photo of Chris stuck to the board with a note underneath it to make it look like it was Isak's own contribution.

_Mr. Schistad is so handsome and I wish I was as cool as him - Mr. Valtersen_

"Can you not vandalise my class's projects, Chris?" Isak says, going to tear it off, when he stops himself. It's quite funny, he supposes, and it's good for the kids to see it's ok for men to talk kindly about each other, even if Chris is (mostly) joking.

"I know you have Even and Chris here but if you want any information on lower juniors or Bekkulaget in general then I'll do my best to help," Eva says, beautiful and soft as she smiles at him sincerely, Isak nodding his thanks. Eva walks over to Chris and musses up his hair quickly, Chris squealing as he jumps up, annoyed, Eva cackling. Isak sometimes wonders who the real children here are when there's teachers like Chris and Magnus. Magnus passed him a _note_ in assembly yesterday like they're naughty eleven year olds but the embarrassing thing was it made Isak's heart skip a beat because it was Year 6 Assembly and Even was leading it, of course. Isak had wondered what Even would have done if he saw Isak passing private notes. Isak let himself think about the possibilities that evening, comfortable in bed and attempting to use the memory of his last hook-up to get off, annoyed it wasn't satisfying him. He knew it was wrong, and would only make him even less able to focus with Even around if he gave in and allowed himself to fantasise about Even but he really, _really_ wanted to get off, so he did.

_Even demanding Isak come to his room after school. "What kind of behaviour is this, Isak? I expect better." Even shoving Isak over his desk. A thorough spanking. Even rips down Isak's trousers and his own, grabs Isak's hips, slamming into him, Isak apologising..._

It had worked. Isak had the sticky, white evidence that it worked all over his hand.

It's tough to read Even, that's the problem. Even is fun, a joker, charming, always there in the staffroom with a pep talk and a cup of tea yet no one speaks about Even so Isak has no idea if he's dating or not, Even offering little insight into what his private life is like, slowly driving Isak wild. He needs to befriend Even out of work and is hoping the half term drinks will be a way to do that but he has to get the awful meeting with Mrs. Negaard out the way first.

His class are in high spirits all day in the lead up to the afternoon, the big Year 5 v. Year 6 Rounders match. Isak is looking forward to it in the sense he's looking forward to fooling around with Even and getting some fresh air, rounding up the kids as they go to get changed. There's always one, or four, who don't have the correct kit, Isak having to fish some out of lost property before he goes and gets changed himself into a pair of gym shorts, a white t-shirt and trainers.

"Mr. V!" Even shouts, stretching on the field, "hope you're ready to lose," Even shouts at Isak and the kids, Year 5 hollering back.

"We're gonna win, Mr. Naesheim," Kenneth pipes up, getting ready, Even laughing.

"Aren't you going to warm up?" Even asks, looking at Isak, who frowns.

"You need to stretch," Even suggests, grabbing his water bottle from the ground and taking a swig, "stretch your arms and legs."

"It's a kid's game," Isak mutters to him, "I think I'll be ok."

"Your loss," Even smirks, "shall we toss a coin to see who bats first?", before turning to the children gathering around them, "Year 5 or Year 6 to bat first?" he shouts, all the kids shouting their own class name.

"If Year 5 lose, Mr. Valtersen has to bake us all cookies," a little girl Isak doesn't know the name of from Year 6 suggest, hand on hip, all sass. Isak scoffs at that, about to wave her off, when Even agrees.

"I can't bake," Isak whines, "so, if Year 6 lose, you bake for us, right?" he asks Even.

"Yeah, sure," Even shrugs, picking a coin out of his pocket, "let's do this."

Year 6 get to bat first, Isak dividing up tasks for Year 5 as Year 6 take their positions. Isak decides to help his kids out by taking up position in the outer field so he can try and catch if any of them have a good swing on them. It's fun, Isak has to admit, the kids playing together well, many cries of foul play but generally good natured. It's when Even steps up to cheers from his class that Isak really takes an interest. He's determined to catch the ball that Even bats, to get him out. Even catches his eyes and winks, Isak's eyes focused and his feet loose as he waits to run for it. Sure enough, Even bats the ball with force, sending it flying into the air and across the heads of most of the children, Isak running for it, not even embarrassed as he loses himself to his competitive side, jumping up to the catch the ball but it brushes against his fingertips and carries on, Isak squealing in annoyance before he trips and lands into an enormous pile of wet mud.

It's the wetness of the mud that really gets him, the sludging feel under his ass and thighs, the way it bulges in-between his fingers as he scrambles to sit upright. He's thankful he landed on his ass and not his face, at least, but the roar of everyone around him is suddenly audible once he's over the shock of falling. Children from both classes are howling, some of the more empathetic ones running over, offering their assistance, until Even gets there. Isak reaches for Even's hand even though Even hasn't stretched out to help him, bewildered as Even breaks into deep belly laughs, clutching himself as he cries with laughter.

"Go and get the teachers," Even cackles at one of his kids, "go and get Mr. Schistad, Mr. Fossbakken," he instructs, before looking at Isak again and breaking down once more.

"You - I can't believe you- ", Isak wants to fume, Even's beautiful, crumpled, laughing face makes Isak lose the attitude and giggle too.

"Jesus Christ," Isak moans, making Even wipe away tears, Isak barely able to look up as teachers who've left their classes with TAs come to witness his humiliation.

"Oh, curls," Chris laughs, wrapping an arm over Even's shoulder as he leans into him, "you are truly _filthy_."

Thank goodness the kids have got bored of watching Isak, too young to notice Chris's double entendre, the rest of the teachers giggling.

"It happens," Magnus nods, "rookie mistake. I've done it. No one tells you about the Mud Pile."

"Yeah," Isak says, "can someone actually, you know, help?" he asks, out of breath with the fall.

Eva and Even offer a hand and Isak takes both, the pair of them lifting Isak out of the mud pile, utterly covered in it.

"I take it we have showers," Isak groans, looking down at himself, Chris crying with joy at the mess he's made. Even nods, "yeah, of course, you can shower after the game."

"What?" Isak asks, outraged, "I can't play like this!"

"It's just mud," Even smirks, "your class will never forgive you if we end before they've had their turn, Year 6 winning by default."

It's the first time he's hated Even, knowing Even will tease him, but making him play sports wet and dirty is a master move in cruelty. Isak's face must say it all because the whole team of teachers laugh, Isak wiping his hand on his small t-shirt, changing his tune with a shrug.

"Fine," Isak says haughtily,"I'll play."

"Great, let's go" Even suggests, "Year 5, it's your turn to bat!" he yells at the playing kids, both years swapping.

"Damn, curls," Chris leers, "you in those little shorts, little top, all _dirty_ ," he adds, Isak rolling his eyes before he wipes a clump of mud from his leg and smears it on Chris's chest, Chris's face reddening, many, many swear words being held back as the children laugh. Isak knows Chris loves his status as the cool, relaxed Year 4 teacher, only ever losing his temper at the last moment, if necessary, watching with amusement as Chris pushes down his fury, eyes narrowing.

"Mature," Chris sneers, tutting at it, Magnus laughing openly before shutting up when Chris looks at him with hatred.

Isak jogs up the field, glaring at Even, a little thrill sparking through him when Even meets his eyes and grins back, loving the fact Isak's being forced to continue despite the fact only his face is mud-free. Isak feels disgusting, mud and grass and goodness only knows what else attached to his skin. He makes it through, vindicated as Year 5 win, much to the anger of Year 6, Even shutting up his class with a loud voice, conceding victory to a very excited, proud Year 5. Kari takes them to class for Reading Time and Isak mercifully, finally, is able to take a shower.

"I'm so excited to see my skin again," he groans to Even, "can you show me the showers? I don't - "

"Yeah, let me settle them with Finn and I'll show you, wait there," Even suggests, quick before he's back and leading Isak through to a tiny space with two small showers.

"I'll grab you a towel, hang on," Even promises, Isak leading forward and experimenting with them, turning the rusty handle and squealing as freezing cold water spurts out, soaking him fully clothed. He shrugs to himself, dodging the onslaught of ice water, attempting to turn up the temperature when Even knocks in, throwing the towel over the side away from the shower.

"Your clothes are just out here," he says, licking his lips for the briefest, sweetest moment, "well done on winning."

Isak laughs at that, finding a lukewarm heat for the water, Even patting the cubicle in response before he's gone. Isak shuts the door and takes off his clothes, clawing at his skin to get the worst of it off, trying to be quick. He knows Kari is qualified to be unsupervised with the class but he doesn't like to leave her too often, doesn't want to get too comfortable. He has to take a moment and lean against the wall when he thinks about the upcoming meeting. He's positive he can prove he's challenging Erik. It's ironic his Mother is so concerned that her darling Erik isn't being stretched enough when he's of average ability across the board but Isak is still bothered by the insinuation, checking over work he's set, comments he's given Erik, the information he's input on Erik's progress reports that he submits to Even every four weeks. He doesn't even need to submit reports but Isak's obsessed with proving he _is_ doing something worthwhile, meaningful.

It's a battle between logic and emotion, head and heart, the calm voice that reassures him he's doing well and the desperate one that tells him he's drowning and useless. He should be excited, the last Friday before half-term break, the fact he's going for drinks with everyone after school but he can't shake anxiety; it clings, unwanted but possessive. All Isak can do is wait.

Kari has overseen the class change into normal clothes and finish the day with reading, Isak mouthing "thank you" as he sweeps back in, glad as the bell rings and he says his goodbyes for a week. He's unable to stop pacing the room, picking up pens and imaginary bits of litter on the floor, waiting as he sees everyone off with their parents before Mrs. Neegard arrives. Isak is half in, half out his classroom, watching a polished, small woman shaking Even's hand at the top of the corridor behind the window-plated door, Even showing her into the meeting room.

Isak feels sick.

"I'll look after Erik," Chris says, startling Isak, placing a hand on Isak's shoulder, "It'll all be ok," Chris tells him, Isak nodding reluctantly.

"Off you go, Kari, sweetheart," Chris croons, "go and get your nails done or whatever it is chicks do in their free time."

"I have a boxing class," Kari smirks, "Erik, Mr. Schistad will look after you while Mr. V talks to your Mama, ok?"

Erik shrugs, unperturbed, Isak watching the interaction numbly when he hears the door in the middle of the corridor buzz open, sees Even waving him forward. He knows this is just a normal occurrence, it's nothing to be upset about, nothing to stress over but he feels weak and wobbly despite that logical part of him attempting to cool his nerves.

"You'll be fine," Even whispers, close enough for Isak to see the fair freckles on his cheek, "come on."

"Mrs. Neegard, this is Isak Valtersen, Erik's teacher," Even introduces, politely, Mrs. Neegard standing up and reaching for Isak's hand. Isak is taken aback by the strength of her handshake, for such a small woman, hoping he doesn't let that show, smiling at her.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Neegard," he says, adrenaline kicking in.

"Marie," she corrects him, dusting down her skirt as she sits back down, Isak nodding in agreement.

"So, Mrs. Neegard, I believe you have some concerns so myself and Mr. Valtersen are here to listen to those concerns and hopefully put your mind at ease," Even tells her, as professional as it gets, Isak impressed, clasping his hands together on the table as he sits opposite Marie, Even heading the table.

"Yes," Marie says sharply, with a smile that Isak isn't sure if he trusts, "my concerns are that Erik is not progressing quickly enough. I don't feel his development in key subjects is really being, well, developed."

Isak feels like he's on a turbulent car journey, the way his stomach rolls. His mouth is dry and the tick of the clock in the room is so loud it's like it's wedged in his throat.

"Isak?" Even asks. Isak isn't sure if he can speak, the words stuck, but he knows he can't afford to come across as a bumbling, terrified fool. He's a qualified teacher, for goodness sake, with Grade 1s and 2s across the board during his training, he graduated with distinction, he's led assemblies, had feedback from parents, colleagues and students that has brought tears to his eyes. He can't fall apart now.

"I understand, Marie," he says, hoping his smile looks soft, "according to the progress reports I monitor, Erik is progressing, his knowledge is improving and he's applying it really well. I suppose I could set him homework if you think that's something he'd benefit from."

"Ok," Marie says, "I expect him to be set homework, if I'm honest, Isak."

Isak feels defensive, it's one trait he's found exceptionally difficult to control even as a professional and he's about to retaliate when Even steps in.

"That's a kind offer, Isak, but we don't set homework at Bekkulaget, Mrs. Neegard - Marie - ", he smiles, "Erik's been here since pre-school and you know the school's philosophy. I'm afraid I can't allow Isak to set homework especially for Erik. I can recommend to you books and other resources - "

" - Isak is paid, not here as a volunteer, I assume?" she asks, eyebrows raised, "it's his job to teach my child."

"Of course," Even says, "he has 25 other children to teach, as well, and as I've said, we do not set homework."

"Right," she says, visibly irritated, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I don't wish to be rude, but how old is Isak?"

"I'm 22," Isak jumps in, not enjoying being spoken about like he isn't even present.

"Are you really old enough for this job?" she asks, with genuine concern, Even leaning forward.

"Isak has excellent reports from his trainee placements and university. He's been observed numerous times here by several members of staff who have all found his practice to be explementary," Even states. Isak takes comfort in the praise, knowing Even wouldn't say it if it weren't true. He's glad neither of them can see how tightly he's holding his hands together under the table, fingertips bright red.

"He's still very young and inexperienced," Marie says, clinging to this one point like it means something.

"Isak studied teaching including undertaking practical teaching for four years," Even says, looking at Isak, "yes?"

"Yes," Isak agrees quickly.

"We need to give new teachers a chance and actually, new teachers are an asset to a school, to the students. They're enthusiastic and have new ideas. They're hot on doing everything by the book, things that experienced teachers willingly forget or sideline because they're a little hardened and out of practice," Even shrugs, "we have a really great collection of teachers here, Marie, and Isak is certainly one of them."

"Maybe you'd like to come and sit in the class for a morning or afternoon?" Isak suggests, "perhaps it would put your mind at ease."

"Oh," she says, "yes, maybe, maybe..." she sighs, picking at something on her skirt, Even sending Isak a smile and a small raise of eyebrows which Isak takes to mean _ooh, nicely done_ , making him want to blush, hide his face behind his hands, shy.

"I just - " she pauses, as if she's debating whether to say it, "I think Erik was flourishing with Chris, Mr. Schistad. I really don't think you're - suitable - for this class, Isak, at least for pushing the smarter children."

The kick Isak got out of Even's subtle praise is gone. It's tough when you constantly compare yourself to others in your head but to have someone do it out loud and to your face feels like being punched in the stomach, Isak's high snatched away from him, sending him right back to the floor and the dirt, coughing, spluttering, doubting.

"We respect your opinion Marie but this is an ongoing issue, isn't it?" Even says, voice thinner as his patience begins to crack, "you feel this way with everyone, you had doubts with Chris - "

" - they did not last long," she points out, pouting.

"Well, Marie, I am a qualified teacher and I'm Head of this part of Bekkulaget," Even says pointedly, "Isak is absolutely suitable for Year 5. He is following all protocol perfectly. I've advised you on steps you can take at home to push Erik if you feel it's necessary but I thank you for coming along today to discuss this. I feel that we've explained the situation to you and we're here for you if you need anything else."

Isak feels deflated, hoping that's it over with, standing as Marie stands up.

"Ok," she gives in, "well, I can't say I'm completely satisfied, Even, but I trust your judgement so I hope to see improvements."

"There are no improvements to be made," Even frowns, "unless you'll be setting Erik extra work yourself. To be clear, Isak's conduct isn't being questioned here."

"Right. Ok," she says tightly, "goodbye," she says, Even's open mouth closing as she quite obviously wants to leave, heels clipping off to go and collect Erik.

Even scoffs, walking over to close the door to the room, shaking his head in amusement and disbelief. Isak hates that it's happening but he's lost to it now, Even turning around and his face falling as he sees Isak welling up.

"Hey, Isak," he begins, Isak shaking his head, embarrassed, "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"It's ok, come on," Even tuts, assuring, walking over and Isak crumples into him, Even's hands stroking up his arms to his back, cradling Isak into him, Isak's small frame easily covered by Even's body as he cries into his chest.

"This is so embarrassing," Isak sniffs, still weeping, "I'm sorry, Even, I just feel.. so..."

"Ssh," Even hushes, "it's ok, I know, you did really well. She's an asshole," he whispers, laughing. Isak can feel his lips move against his temple and Even feels so good in his arms as he clings around Even's waist. It's an intimate hug, Isak weak as Even strokes through his hair. It's a hug that's reserved for family, for the best of friends, for treasured lovers, but here they are, colleagues in a empty room, participating in it anyway.

"I've got an idea," Even whispers conspiratorially, tugging at Isak's little waist as he looks down at him, "I know what will cheer you up."

Isak blinks, shrugging, shy now he's stopped weeping all over Even, Even gesturing to him to follow. Isak keeps his head down but no one's about, not really, locked away in classrooms as they finish up for the day when they're making their way through Even's colourful room to the playground.

"Come on," Even encourages, Isak laughing as they reach the Garden of Peace. It's a small patch of ground near the field that teachers and kids put together as a respite if and when necessary. It's cordoned off from the field by sunflowers, all neatly growing in perfect lines, with a small blue tent in the middle, filled with cushions and bouncy balls and dangling stars that are attached to the top.

Even opens the tent, Isak going in with a grin, Even following as he falls down elegantly.

"Lie down," he tells Isak, Isak sighing, but obeying, an open wide smile on his face as Even throws away cushions and kicks the bouncy balls away so that Isak can lie down comfortably. Isak closes his eyes, trying to listen to the trickling water fountain outside and the constant chirping of the birds, appreciating the dimness in here under the tent. He's surprised when he feels warmth and softness on his hand, Even taking his hand in his, risking a glance at Even who's also lying down, eyes shut, but as if he can tell Isak is looking at him he opens them, grinning over at Isak.

"Do you feel peaceful?" he asks Isak. Isak is smitten with the way Even's hand covers his, the combination of strength and vulnerability in Even's clasp.

"I feel peaceful," he confirms, "do you?"

"I do," Even says.

Even doesn't remove his hand. Isak resists the urge to beam, grin like a mad fool, although it's difficult when Even gently rubs his thumb over Isak's knuckle, Isak closing his eyes. He concentrates on that consistent soft feel of Even's thumb on his hand, the noises outside, a distant whurr of traffic, the clatter of someone, perhaps Eva, in her classroom nearby.

"Thank you for what you said," Isak murmurs, "I appreciate it."

"It's all true," Even replies, Isak feeling Even looking at him, "I'm sorry it upset you."

"I can handle it, I swear," Isak aches, needing Even to know he isn't a liability, opening his eyes to look back at Even, "but it just - it - hurt."

Even gives the smallest of nods. Isak could close the distance between them if he wanted, dare to brush a kiss on Even's mouth, almost feeling encouraged by the soft, unapologetic grip of Even's hand.

"Well, hello!" Chris yells, throwing back material that lets you slip inside the small tent, Even quickly but delicately removing his hand from Isak's, "what's going on here?" he asks, looking down at Even, at Isak, their comfy little nest of cushions around them as they lay on the floor of the tent.

"We're recovering from Marie Neegard," Even explains, Chris raising his eyebrows in understanding before falling down in the middle, squashing most of Isak and some of Even.

"Jesus Christ, Chris, get _off_ ," Isak groans, pushing him away, "this tent can't take three grown men all at once."

"You'd know something about taking three grown men all at once, curls," Chris cackles, Isak feeling his cheeks begin to burn, especially as Even joins in, pretty blue eyes closed as he laughs dirtily. Isak mumbles some swear words at them, knee knocking against Chris's.

"What did Marie say?" Chris asks.

"You were right," Isak groans, hating it, "she loves you and hates me."

"Nah," Chris laughs, "although, I did fuck her last year, so, she's a big fan now."

"What?" Even asks, horrified, "Chris - "

"What?!" Chris interrupts, "it's no big deal, there's no clause against it, I checked our policies, we have a lot of hot, single parents, so..."

"Chris!" Even repeats, looking torn between wanting to reprimand him and laugh. Chris rubs at his eyes, perhaps tired, or maybe just frustrated, Isak can never tell. Chris is the class clown, except he's the teacher. Isak knows he cares, knows he's good at his job as he asked Magnus for the lowdown on Chris when Chris was first assigned as his mentor. Isak didn't want to pick up bad habits. Chris certainly has them, but he's open with them, rather than attempting to pretend they don't exist.

"Did you? Did you actually?" Even asks. Isa's jealous of how close Chris gets to be to Even now he's forced his way in between them. Chris can probably count Evens eyelashes, he's that close.

"Well, an - an - incident happened," Chris stutters, "a consensual incident, away from school grounds, took place."

Even's laugh is loud and infectious, Isak giggling too, although his own enjoyment is ruined when Chris leans over and ruffles his hair before Isak wriggles out of his grasp.

"The Garden of Peace is now the Garden of Extreme Irritation," Isak bitches, "but thank you, Even," he smiles, starting to crawl out of the tent, followed by the other two, Even brushing himself down and clearing his throat.

"Uh, Isak? You feeling ok?" Even asks. Isak smiles, nodding his assurance which satisfies Even.

"Ok. Good. It's half term!," Even yells excitedly, "I'm going home to change and I'll meet you there? The Dove, 6pm?," he checks, pointing at them both. Chris salutes him before Even jogs back to school, Isak watches him mournfully.

"Sorry Issy, totally cockblocked you there," Chris sighs, making a face.

"Yeah, you did, asshole," Isak tuts, Chris's face lighting up.

"So you admit it! You're trying to get that!," he grins, pointing in the direction Even ran off in, "that's the cock I blocked you from!"

"I - I - he's - "

"It's cool, bro, I'm not going to tell him," Chris promises, kicking at the grass, "come on, it's half term, we need to go and get drunk."

Isak hangs back a moment, looking over at the small tent, a place of sanctuary for crying children, and crying adults, apparently. Even was so soft, bringing him here, Isak thinks fondly. The fresh memory of the glittery, handmade stars above him, smell of cut grass and Even's warm hand covering his, the way Even looked at him like he'd never seen Isak before, like Isak's a new, beautiful, intriguing discovery in a grey, empty world, is a memory Isak is currently etching into the forefront of his brain to go back to and enjoy whenever he wants.

"Isak!" Chris shouts, cajoling Isak into movement. He looks at the garden one last time, before heading home.

*


	2. A Little's Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak mixes drinks and mixes feelings which leads to some uncomfortable situations and sets him on a downward spiral, until he gets a little clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you're reading this... thank you! I hope you're enjoying and continue to enjoy this story <3
> 
> So, this fic is clearly tagged as an Evak fic and it is and will be, but, just like real life, things aren’t always easy and uncomplicated. Isak doesn’t have sex with anyone else and he doesn’t have feelings for anyone else which is cleared up the end and leads me nicely into Chapter 3. I definitely ship other pairings but when I have used multi-ships or several pairings I’ve tagged, such as my Chrisaven threesome fic. 
> 
> Isak is feeling the pressure in this chapter not only with his feelings for Even but with his job. The end of the chapter resolves one situation, so it’s not ALL pain! This is just a short fic, so only one chapter after this. 
> 
> Your comments, kudos, tweet are <3 so lovely and appreciated.
> 
> Blink’s = a fictional gay bar

_Where are those secrets now_  
That you're too scared to tell  
I'd whisper them all aloud  
So you can hear yourself 

**A Little’s Enough – Angels & Airwaves**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Isak’s on the tram heading for the bar they’re meeting in. He changed in to a white shirt and fitted jeans, getting wolf whistled by Eskild as he stepped out of his room looking for his wallet frantically, grabbing his coat as he did so.

“Bring a nice boy home, sweetie,” Eskild had winked, Isak rolling his eyes. 

He’s a little late but not too late, bumping shoulders with strangers as he makes his way in, finding Even, Eva, her wife, Magnus and a few other faces, drinking merrily, sprawled across a table near the back.

“Isak,” Even grins, “here, come over here,” he welcomes him, looking relaxed and happy in a denim jacket rather than his black coat, Isak fitting in easily. 

“What’s your drink?” Even asks, a hand on Isak’s forearm, Isak enjoying the proximity of their bodies, “ah, just a beer?” he shrugs, Even getting up to go to the bar. Eva introduces Noora, her arm around her wife, their hands linked, Magnus is talking to Mahdi, the chilled Reception teacher, and Isak looks around the table to see if he can jump in to any other conversation.

“I guarantee you that Eva gets drunk,” the dark-haired family mentor mutters to Isak, Isak barely realising he was on his other side, too giddy by Even’s presence, “like, mad drunk.”

Isak laughs, “what?” he asks, looking over to the other side of table and witnessing Eva chuck back a glass of white wine.

“Ah,” he nods, laughing, “maybe?”

“I’m Jonas,” Jonas says, like it’s a question, “it’s probably a good thing if you haven’t met me yet.”

“No, we’ve passed in the corridors,” Isak grins, “nice to meet you, I’m Year 5.”

“Weird name,” Jonas quips.

“Well, yeah - ” Isak blusters, “I’m Isak.”

Even comes back with drinks, large hands easily wrapping around bottles of beer and two glasses of wine. Isak takes his gratefully until it dawns on him someone is missing, even if that someone is a royal pain in Isak’s ass.

“Where’s Chris?” he asks, puzzled.

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear, indeed, as once the words have left Isak’s mouth, Chris strides in, leather jacket, red shirt and black jeans. He waves over at the table, Eva whistling and hollering at him, in jest, Isak assumes, Isak grabbing a free chair, there being slight space between himself and Jonas.

“Here you are, Schistad,” Isak smirks, Chris looking over at the side of the table Isak’s sat on, before he shrugs, “it’s cool, I’ll go here,” he points to the scrap of seat left near Eva.

“You’ll fall off, there’s no space,” Isak frowns, “come over here.”

Isak knows there’s tension in the air but he doesn’t know why. It would be awkward for Chris to refuse again, so he doesn’t, even if he seems slightly aggrieved by having to sit next to Isak. Jonas budges up slightly, Chris throwing down his jacket and hearing for the bar.

“So, Year 5 beat Year 6’s ass at rounders,” Isak boasts, to anyone and everyone, “Even’s going to bake cookies for us.”

There’s laughter and jeers again, until Eva frowns, “Isak, you literally fell in the Mud Pile. That’s the story from rounders,” she cackles, Magnus and Mahdi cracking up too.

“It was adorable,” Even smiles, “he was just lying there, helpless, looking grumpy…”

“Adorable?” Isak squeals, “you laughed at me! You made everyone come out to make fun of me!”

“I wasn’t passing up that opportunity,” Even says, Isak finding it impossible to be mad at the way his smile increases as he recalls Isak’s pitifulness. Isak drinks his first beer fast, and his second one, enjoying the third, tipsy and loose as he cackles at Eva’s mockery of Chris. He doesn’t want to be solely focused on Even but he’s hyper aware of Even next to him, the pair of them stealing glances and smiles, interrupted as Chris noisily plonks down a tequila shot in front of Isak.

“Come on curls, you won’t let me down,” Chris says confidently, Isak looking over to see more shots, at least 6, “let’s go.”

“I can’t do shots,” Isak says miserably.

“I’m sure you’ve had to swallow some questionable sticky stuff in your time,” Chris winks, Eva spluttering out her wine through her nose, grabbing one of the shots, “I will! Come on, Isak!” she urges, Isak groaning as he inspects the dirty glass.

“Ready?” Chris asks, Jonas judging him, Chris ignoring it entirely. Isak lifts the tequila to his lips and knocks it back, fighting the urge to gag as it hits the back of his throat and slips down.

“Disgusting!” he yells, “disgusting,” shaking his head, curls bouncing, Even huffing in amusement.

“Naesheim, here you go,” Chris says, pushing one over to Even who declines, “I’m driving. Haven’t you noticed I’m on the diet coke, hmm?”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris groans, “I can’t believe I’m out with you lot.”

“Another one for Isak, another one for me,” Chris says, “what shall we cheers to, Isak?”

Isak giggles, knowing he’s probably pink in the face now, alcohol warming him up, shrugging.

“Cheers to Isak,” Magnus offers, “he’s new and he’s survived his first term. He deserves a cheers,” lifting his own beer to Isak, who knows he definitely is pink now, blushing, still laughing.

“Alright, here’s to Isak, Bekkulaget’s little prince,” Chris says, knocking the shot back, Isak gingerly picking up the other one.

“You could just throw it on the floor,” Even whispers, startling Isak, lips ghosting across Isak’s ear, “they won’t notice.”

Isak is tempted, knowing he can’t handle tequila of all things, the busyness of the table and everyone chatting amongst themselves meaning no one is paying much attention to him personally. He edges the shot closer to him, ready to tip it over when Chris grabs his wrist.

“Drink it,” he commands, leaning in, “don’t join them. Be cool like me.”

“Oh, so cool,” Jonas drawls, Chris easing up on his grip of Isak’s wrist but not responding to the jibe. Isak shrugs. It’s half term and he has time to recuperate if he’s in a state tomorrow. 

“Fine,” he gives in, Chris letting go and everyone watching as Isak sinks the shot, clasping his hand over his mouth immediately, bowing his head as he squeals in protest at the taste.

“Yes! Isak did it,” Chris laughs proudly. Thankfully, there’s no more shots. Eva gets up to dance, encouraging the pre-school teacher, Vilde, to join her, even though it’s definitely not a dancing bar, Noora calling time out on the evening. People dwindle off, Mahdi, a stumbling Magnus, amongst others, until it’s Even, Isak, Jonas and Chris. 

Isak’s lost in conversation with Even, discovering how he loves art, films, good coffee, to the point where he keeps a secret stash of good coffee at school.

“Will you show me?” Isak asks, head on his hand as he leans into it, Even nodding, smirking, “well, I might do. I don’t want you stealing it.”

“I wouldn’t steal!” Isak gasps, offended, “I wouldn’t steal it, I’d just persuade you to share it.”

“Ah,” Even nods, “I’m sure you would,” he agrees, eyeing Isak’s face, his mouth, Isak watching as he does so, unable to resist licking his lips but that makes him wince, tasting leftover tequila. Their conversation is halted as Jonas stands up, finishes the last of his drink as he pulls his jacket on, Chris blatantly ignoring them all, phone glued to his palm.

“Have a good break, boys,” Jonas says, and with that he’s gone. Chris sighs, leaning back, head resting as he closes his eyes.

“You can’t handle it like you used to, Chris,” Even jokes, “admit it.”

“I can,” Chris comes back, sitting back up, “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to head off too, actually,” Even says, patting his thighs, “do you want a lift, Isak?”

Isak nods but he’s cut off by a splutter from across the table.

“No, Isak’s staying with me, because he’s the only other cool teacher here,” Chris insists, “and it’s, like, 11.00pm. He’s not Cinderella.”

“I don’t know,” Isak grins, half wanting to go home, chat to Even, make a snack and fall into bed, but Chris’s company is fun, addictive, makes him feel good about himself. The pub is still full of chatter and drinkers, music and laughter, Isak sure there’s a little more fun to be squeezed out of Friday evening before he leaves.

“I think Isak should go home,” Even says, the only sober one left.

“What are you? His Papa?” Chris scoffs, “Isak, what’s it going to be, hmm?”

“Oh… I….,” Isak hates it, not wanting either of them to be disappointed. He hates how hopeless he can be with decisions, to and fro’ing between them for days, weeks, even months and sitting here, stuck between the two men he seems to be spend the most time with, he’s torn.

“Isak wants to stay, man, look,” Chris says, “he’s just scared of you being mad at him.”

“I would not be mad,” Even rolls his eyes, “Isak, ignore him. I thought you looked tired and I’m happy to drive you home if you want.”

“Isak,” Chris rolls his eyes, “I will judge you if you leave.”

Isak arches into his chair, grinning. He’s happy and relaxed and he does want to stay, let Chris make him laugh some more, which Chris takes as confirmation and cheers in response. Even nods, realising he’s lost.

“Ok,” he smiles, “make sure he gets home safely, Schistad.”

“On my honour,” Chris promises, hand over heart, making Isak scoff.

“Have a good week,” Even tells them, wrapping his coat around him as he leaves.

“Get your ass over here, Valtersen,” Chris says, patting next to himself, Isak making to move from his chair from across the table so he can sit next to Chris on the sofa. He crosses his legs, sitting like one of the kids in class, as Chris leaves to get them another beer. He checks his phone, social media dead, pleased when Chris returns with booze.

“To the coolest teachers in town,” Chris says, clinking his beer with Isak’s and taking a gulp.

“That’s us,” Isak agrees.

“You’ve been cosy with Mr. Naesheim all night,” Chris says, mischief in his voice, “how’s Operation Get Even’s Dick going?”

“That’s a terrible code name,” Isak drawls, “it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“How’s it going?” Chris persists, eyes dark and a soft smirk on his face, hair still floppy and annoying.

“I’m not…,” Isak groans, “it’s not like that.”

“What, then?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel he can speak more openly, that combined with the realisation that he does trust and admire Chris, for all his boisterous arrogance, Isak squirming a little and taking a sip of his beer before he turns to him.

“I do like him,” Isak confesses, “but I don’t want to overstep, you know, he’s my superior, so…”

“Yeah, work place romances always end in tears,” Chris grins, “and look at you, too far gone to consider friends with benefits,” he laughs, musing, “still, I doubt Even’s up for casual fucking either.”

“No, no,” Isak squeals, giggling, “stop it, Chris.”

“So, you really do get laid, huh?” Chris asks, biting back laughter, “like you told us. That was incredible, curls. Even’s face was a picture.”

“Shut up,” Isak groans, embarrassed, “and I… well….”

“You don’t, do you?” Chris cringes, “when’s the last time you had sex?”

“That’s none of your business,” Isak says hotly, warmed by the alcohol.

“Let me guess. You lost your v card at uni to your boyfriend. How adorable. You’ve had a few crushes and hook-ups since. That’s the extent of your sexual experience so far.”

“Fuck off,” Isak says miserably, hating how easily Chris seems to get him, “so?”

“I’m not judging you,” Chris laughs, “it’s just a waste. You’re pretty, you’re always grumpy, so I bet you like to really go for it, get all that frustration out…”

“You’re disgusting!” Isak yells, attracting a few looks from other drinkers, before they crumple into laughter, Isak moving to dangle his leg over the side as he turns to Chris, leaning into the comfortableness of the sofa. He can’t help that Chris’s teasing words feel good, like a caress, a caress for his ego perhaps, so he lets himself enjoy it.

“Maybe you do need a friend with benefits,” Chris says, serious. He’s leaning back, too, slightly facing Isak, Isak noticing he licks his lips, assessing Isak, eyes travelling from his face to his legs.

“Nah,” Isak says meekly, biting his lip, the atmosphere changing instantly. Chris is slick and confident, effortlessly sliding closer, Isak keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

“You don’t like sex?” Chris asks, Isak wanting to laugh, wishing he could find the bravery to look up, meet Chris’s eyes. He loves sex, loves the connection, the intimacy, the way it makes his body feel, how he can make someone else feel, but years of masquerading as straight, denying his sexuality has stripped him of the ability to enjoy it shamelessly.

“No, I do,” he mumbles, eyes forcibly removed from the ground when Chris places his hand on Isak’s bent knee, thumb dipping in the curve.

“Well, curls, in that case, let me be a gentleman and offer my services,” Chris suggests. Isak finds the courage, perhaps fuelled by beer and tequila, to make awkward eye contact. Chris looks calm, sure, and Isak wants to curl in on himself, deny himself this, because all he can think of are the repercussions.

“What do you mean?” Isak asks, taking the opportunity to study Chris’s pretty face now he’s up close, dark eyes and a full mouth, the red of his shirt handsomely matching the colour of his skin.

“Now, Isak, this is a no strings attached arrangement,” Chris says, something about it telling Isak he’s said this spiel before, “let me make that clear. We’re not going to become husbands, adopt an adorable little boy, take up golf together, understand? It’s just sex, but it’s good sex, with someone you can trust, rather than you risking it taking back some big bear from Blink’s.”

Isak giggles despite himself, shaking his head at Chris good naturedly. 

“I’ll give up your sweet little ass to Even when _that_ eventually happens,” Chris promises, “I won’t scupper your chances of true love. But, in the meantime… don’t you deserve some fun?”

Isak hums, looking at Chris’s mouth, tantalisingly close and the way his hand feels on his leg makes Isak crave more. He knows that Chris would be on a mission to make Isak shake with pleasure and even though Isak hates that he somehow knows it, Chris is right, right about everything he’s just said.

“Won’t it be weird at school?” he asks pathetically, barriers weak, but still up.

“No,” Chris says confidently, and with that, Isak leans in. It’s a slow, gentle kiss, to Isak’s surprise, for at least three seconds, until Chris deepens it, Isak following, hungry now they’ve started. Isak hasn’t been kissed in a long time, and Chris is good at it, Isak coming to cling onto his neck, his hair, not even caring that there’s others around. He moans as Chris pulls him closer, hands on his hips, a sneaky grope of his ass that makes Isak pant into his mouth, breaking apart before they go again, Chris’s hand in Isak’s hair as he direct Isak’s movements. Chris tastes good, like the beer they’ve been drinking all night, his hands are strong but not too intrusive as he practically brings Isak into his lap.

“Uh – Isak – “, he hears, Isak breaking the kiss, slightly raised on his knees as his make out session with Chris heats up, Chris’s hands still on his hips, as Isak blinks and looks over at Even.

“I, uh, think I left my phone, so…,” Even says, expressionless, Isak suddenly jumping up, Chris’s hands leaving his hips and Chris having the decency to look a little guilty before he starts to look for Even’s phone, Even stood there, waiting, Isak on his feet and gaping at Even awkwardly.

“Ah, it fell,” Chris mutters, fishing it out from the dent in the sofa, “here.”

Even accepts it with a nod, Isak still standing foolishly as Even turns and leaves, before running after him.

“Hey, Even, could I get that lift?” he asks as he catches Even by the door. Even nods, nothing betraying how he feels, adding, “yeah, sure.”

“I just need my coat,” Isak rushes, jogging back and grabbing it, Chris throwing his hands in the air.

“Isak - ”

“No,” Isak whispers, cutting Chris off, even though Even can’t hear, “ugh, I can’t believe this,” he adds, more to himself than Chris, running back to Even, both walking to the car in silence. Isak gets in, clicks his seatbelt, admiring Even’s car as Even starts the ignition.

“Where do you live?” Even asks, “ah, um, I’ll put it in my phone, hang on,” Isak says, seeing the lead Even has already attached, clicking his phone in so Even can follow the satnav. 

Even drives in silence and Isak tries to honour that. He’s not sure if he had a lucky escape or not. He knows Chris has a soft side, he knows Chris wouldn’t hurt him in any way, not meaningfully, and perhaps they could have had a good, healthy friends-with-benefits situation although try as he might Isak can’t deny that the thought of sleeping with Chris whilst trying to push things forward with Even, yet another colleague, makes him feel guilty. Chris would have been good, Isak’s sure of it, and God knows Isak needs to feel human contact, more than just the affectionate and unwanted morning hugs he gets from Eskild, some point soon.

“I don’t like Chris,” Isak blurts out into the silence, “I like him but I’m not into him.”

Even takes the next left and nods.

“It was just a friendly kiss,” Isak excuses, Even scoffing ever so slightly, barely noticeable.

Isak shuts up, not wanting to make the situation any worse or more embarrassing than it currently is. He is drunk but not unbearably so, curling into the seat as his satnav tells Even they’ve arrived, Even parking, waiting.

“We’re here,” he nudges Isak, Isak slowly undoing his seatbelt, feeling stuck to the car seat. He wants to explain, needs Even to know what he saw was a one-off, a beer driven encounter that he hadn’t predicted, wasn’t planning on seeing through.

“Even…,” Isak starts, groaning in frustration, “I’m not sleeping with Chris. You know that, right?”

He looks at Even who’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, looking out across the dark street, one blaring streetlight aggressively shining down on the bonnet of the car. Even nods.

“That’s your personal life,” Even says. If he’s trying to be comforting, he’s failing, because Isak feels even worse.

“Do you – do you want to come up, for a hot chocolate, or something?” Isak asks, suddenly remembering Noora left some luxury hot chocolate in the flat that Isak’s claimed, hiding it in the back of his cupboard.

“What?” 

“Maybe you want a hot drink before the drive home,” Isak tries.

“My apartment is a 15-minute ride from here, it’s fine,” Even brushes it off.

“Come on,” Isak pleads, trying not to sound too whiny, “you’ll like it.”

He can see Even is giving in, his face softening, Isak feeling the stirs of excitement as Even unclips his own seatbelt, opening the door, Isak rushing to do the same. He leads Even up to the apartment, unlocking, ushering Even is before they wander to the kitchen and Isak begins to scramble at the back of his cupboard for the packet. 

“Shit, it’s not here,” he groans, “Eskild.”

“So, you don’t have hot chocolate?” Even asks, leaning against their counter top, looking slightly unimpressed.

“I do but it’s not the nice stuff,” Isak apologies, “it’s fine though! We can still have it,” he garbles, finding the cheap stuff that he knows they have in the top cupboard, gathering cups and sugar and milk. They make it together, still in silence, Even stirring in sugar for Isak and plenty of milk, Isak hovering.

“Come,” Isak says, taking Even through to his room. He isn’t risking an Eskild interrogation, even if the flat is quiet, you never know with Eskild. Thankfully his room is relatively tidy, Isak glad he can offer Even a cushion to sit on, switching from light to lamp, joining Even on the floor.

“See?” he says, smiling, taking a sip of the weak drink, “perfect.”

“Sure,” Even smiles, wincing as he sips his.

“My housemate must have stolen the nice stuff,” Isak says as apology, hair in his eyes before he brushes it out. Even seems to take up so much space on his floor, long legs folded up and his arms stretched slightly but bent as he cradles his drink.

“It’s ok,” Even confirms, “this is nice.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s ok,” he grins, Isak nodding, feeling warmer as Even visibly relaxes.

“Your housemate stole it, then?” Even asks, eyebrows raised in the way he does, Isak shrugging, “that or a ghost with a sweet tooth, yeah. My other housemate doesn’t drink it so it had to be him.”

“A ghost?” Even grins, “you believe in that stuff?”

“I guess,” Isak says, sitting opposite Even, “I don’t think so.”

“My Mama is into the supernatural,” Even tells him, amused, “things like tarot, palmistry, angels…”

“My Mama believes in angels,” Isak says, although he’s confident it’s in an entirely different way to Even’s Mama.

“So, palmistry? Is that a real thing?” he continues, Even picking up his drink and moving it aside, patting the floor next to him. Isak moves his drink too, eager as he sits next to Even who holds out his hand, Isak giving him his left hand, Even holding it back.

“Ok, so, here, this is your head line,” Even says, Isak transfixed, “tells you about how you think about things.”

“What does mine say?” Isak asks quietly, eyes travelling down Even’s neck as Even inspects his palm.”

“Well, yours is long, straight,” Even tells him, “it means you analyse your decisions, maybe too much.”

Isak laughs a little, that’s a slight understatement, he thinks, fighting to keep his focus on what Even’s saying rather than the fact they’re close, and Even’s touch is gentle. Isak can smell him, smell the detergent he uses, a hint of cologne, perhaps, too.

“This,” Even says, Isak almost shivering at the way he runs his fingertip across is, “is your heart line. Yours is interesting. It’s curved, but it’s not long, or short. So, it means you run on passion,” his eyes flicker to Isak’s, “but also that you prefer smaller settings, one to one conversations.”

“Oh, ok,” Isak says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“What’s this?”

Even swallows, looking it over, pouting.

“It’s your life line.”

“What does it say?”

“Uh,” Even draws it out, “see how you’ve got lots of little lines, hmm? It’s broken. That, apparently, means you’ve had shitty experiences, and they influence you.”

Isak looks at his palm, tiny in Even’s large hand, wrinkling his nose. 

“No offence to your Mama but it sounds like rubbish,” he says. Everything Even said was true. Even looks at him as if he knows Isak is being deliberately obtuse but he says nothing, shrugging, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“Maybe,” Even says. Even doesn’t let go of his hand, looking down at it, Isak taking the initiative, curling his fingers over Even’s thumb. Even shocks him as he presses into Isak’s face, pulling him in, nose soft on Isak’s cheek as Isak leans back into the touch, lips against Even’s cheekbones as they nuzzle. Isak isn’t thinking of time, isn’t sure how long they’re like that, breathing each other in, but his legs are starting to feel numb and heavy so he uncurls them, stretches, having to move his hips to do so. He risks his mouth leaving Even’s cheek, stops leaving the almost kisses he’s been teasing there, presses his lips against Even’s. It’s not even a kiss, more of a touch, a brush, Even quick as he takes Isak’s face in his hands and delicately pushes him away. 

“I can’t,” Even says, voice cracked, “I should go, Isak.”

He bounces onto his feet quickly, Isak copying, not ready for the evening to end abruptly. He doesn’t care that he sacrificed the hot, sweaty promise of Chris for soft nuzzles and hot chocolate with Even on his bedroom floor but it’s not ok for Even to leave, not now.

“Even, wait,” Isak implores him, Even already opening the front door, Isak jogging to keep up.

“Even,” he says, a little more frustrated, Even turning with a sigh to face Isak once he gets to the street, the headlight from earlier still burning bright above him, above the car.

“It’s _you_ ,” Isak says, “it’s obvious that I like you,” he frowns, hating that he’s saying this defensive, annoyed.

“No, Isak, I don’t think you do,” Even tells him, face hardened, “I think you like the idea of me.”

“What? I don’t – I don’t know what you mean,” Isak laughs, arms spread, “I like you, I want to see… I want to see what could happen.”

“You’re lonely,” Even observes, “I can’t be your casual go-to, maybe Chris is – maybe - ”

“You’re telling I should sleep with Chris?!” Isak asks, incredulous, “and, no, Even, this isn’t about me being lonely. I know there’s something between us, or am I really, really off the mark here?”

“No, I – no, you’re not,” Even huffs, “but it’s inappropriate and we’ll both end up hurt.”

Isak doesn’t have anything to add, standing dumbly opposite Even, Even leaving him reluctantly as he gets into his car and Isak is forced to watch him drive off, hopeless and devastated, until Even’s car is out of view and the cool night air is demanding he goes back inside and dream of sad blue eyes.

*

**SECOND TERM**

*

Half term passes simply. Isak spends it lying in bed, making scrambled eggs. He refuses Eskild and Linn’s invitations to parties. He throws away half-drunk bottles of booze he has lying around. He gets a haircut, a trim. He jerks off a lot, maybe twice, three times a day, idlily switching from watching porn to his own fantasies. He checks Facebook miserably. He buys some new Adidas trainers, sees his parents, subscribes to a biology magazine and watches videos on YouTube. He does all his planning on the last day of freedom.  
Monday of the new term, the second term consisting of November and Christmas comes fast. 

He’s not afraid of going back to school, he welcomes that. He likes to be working and be busy, likes the unexpected turns that come with teaching that keep him guessing and energised. Once they’re well into November it’ll be Christmas excitement, a blessed relief, because he can tie everything into Christmas and threaten the kids with Santa Claus until he’s blue in the face from doing so. They say every parent loves Santa, the ultimate behaviour management tool, but every primary school teacher loves him too. 

His stomach churns unhappily if he pictures Chris’s mouth or Even’s eyes, but he’s not frightened. 

He greets the staffroom which consists of Eva, Mahdi and Magnus with a small nod, making his way to the kettle, before he spies a packet of ‘welcome back’ biscuits and heads over, grabbing five greedily. The vultures who work here will never leave him any for morning break, he’s learnt to fill his boots immediately, shoving them in the pockets of his trousers as he starts to make a cup of tea.

“Good break?” Magnus asks, bounding up to him, Isak relaying the obligatory comments about how he enjoyed it, caught up with friends and family, missing out his daily jacking off sessions and hours lost to reading conspiracy theories on Facebook. The room is filling, Jonas pops his head in, makes a coffee, nods at Isak. Isak knows Even will be here, most likely with Else or in his own room and he’s about to make his way to see him when Chris saunters in, sunglasses on.

“It’s not sunny, asshole,” Eva says. Chris shrugs and while Isak can’t see his eyes properly he knows Chris is looking at him, which Chris makes obvious when he points at Isak directly.

“Make me a coffee, curls,” he commands, “please,” as an afterthought.

“I need to get my room ready,” Isak excuses, “make your own.”

“Fine,” Chris grumbles, throwing his coat over the hanger they have in the staffroom, Isak scuttling off. He stops before his class, wondering if he should head down a bit further to Year 6, when Even comes out of Year 5’s classroom.

“Ah, Isak,” he smiles, “I was just checking your smartboard, making sure everything’s good to go…” he trails off, hands on hips.

“Oh, thanks,” Isak says gratefully, “did you, uh, have a good half term?”

“Oh yeah, it was good. I caught up with friends and family, you know,” Even shrugs. Isak wonders if Even had the exact same week as he did but there’s no time to speculate as Even’s off, enthusiastic strides to the staffroom, forcing Isak to leave it be and start the week. 

Parents have started the Christmas threats early, as it’s all the kids want to talk about, after Isak’s taken the register and settled them, asking them about their holiday. That’s ok with Isak, he’ll happily bastardise the warm, loving tradition of Christmas, Santa, for his own gain, for quietness and good behaviour. He teaches a history session first, wanting the week to be about Bonfire Night which incidentally occurs at the end of the week. He can incorporate a lot of subjects into this theme and eventually get them to make their own Guy Fawkes which has provided much hilarity in the past, during his training years. The kids love this, fascinated by things being blown up and the fighting amongst British parliament and monarchy. Isak’s smartboard blessedly plays along, after break, allowing him to use his favourite presentation and videos whilst marching around the class and forcing the noisy children to shut up and listen.

“Santa’s watching this class, Kenneth,” he warns, “so be careful.”

“How can Santa watch this class and every other class? My brother’s in Mr. Fossbakken’s class and Mr. Fossbakken says Santa is hiding in there, watching them,” Kenneth whines. Isak makes a note to pinch Magnus for that when he sees him at lunch. 

“Santa can see through walls,” Isak snaps, “so be quiet unless you want coal for Christmas.”

It’s a pathetic trick, but it does the treat, Kenneth giving in and turning his attention to the front. 

Isak writes the day off as a success, wishing he could say the same for the week, which seems to descend into chaos. He thought it’d be an excellent choice but kids argue, cry, Isak wondering if there’s a full moon coming. They’re just naughty brats and even Santa isn’t working, if anything, his threats make the children whinier and irritating. Kari’s brand of enthusiasm and firmness isn’t doing its usual job and Isak goes home on Friday frustrated. It doesn’t help that his interactions with Even have been half-baked, snatched and unsure while Chris, his infamous mentor, seemingly fine with groping Isak’s ass in the middle of a crowded pub, doesn’t bother to grace Isak with his presence once.

Isak’s beginning to run on empty, a toxic mix of self-doubt and anger fizzling through him.

He spends the weekend revisiting his plans and reinventing them, writing it off as a bad week. It happens in teaching. You can plan a theme that is simply wonderful, with resources that blow your mind, that incorporate the those with lower abilities and stretch those with higher abilities, that include your English, Maths, ICT targets all whilst being fun and engaging and it falls flat on its arse in the first hour. Isak used to be so terrified of it, sweaty nightmares waking him each hour. One of Isak’s peers told him during training that she read teachers make more snap decisions than brain surgeons every day, that’s why it’s so tiring; Isak isn’t sure about that but he remembers it all the same.

However, as the second week rolls into Friday, Isak still feeling like he’s trying to squeeze blood from a stone, he’s ready to give up. Isak plasters on a smile and a sweet voice as he waves goodbyes and passes children to parents and after he sees off the last one, little Iben, he shuts his classroom door, heaves himself to his desk and lies his head on it, sat in his chair. 

He groans when he hears his door click open, barely caring who it is.

“Please, go away,” he begs, voice muffled by the desk.

“Let me see that chirpy little face,” Chris banters back, “I love how upbeat and positive you always are, Isak.”

“Fuck. Off,” Isak grits, hating the way he feels disappointed that it’s Chris, but also feeling some guilt about the previous week. He knows he didn’t owe Chris anything, knows just because he inferred he was up for it doesn’t mean he should follow through with it, but Chris is his friend, albeit a friend who he hates a lot of the time. 

“What’s ruining your life this time, sunshine?” Chris asks, moving Isak’s work so he can sit on Isak’s desk opposite him. Isak drags himself up so he can look at Chris who fixes him with a soft smile. 

“I hate this,” Isak says, “two weeks of getting it completely wrong. I’m awful at it,” he confesses, hearing it out loud instead of just in his head even more painful.

“That’s not true, is it?” Chris tells him, “you’re good at your job, Isak.”

“I’m failing at it,” Isak mutters, “I’m not good at it at all.”

“You are,” Chris insists, “stop pressurising yourself all the time.”

“I still think Mrs. Neegard is going to come for me,” Isak shakes his head, looking out and across from Chris, almost in his own world, “and Even – he’ll – fire me.”

“Even can’t fire you, he’s Head of Upper Juniors but he isn’t that important,” Chris rolls his eyes, “just because you’re all puppy eyes over him and think he’s the boss of the world - ”  
Isak hates himself for the easy way he cries, Chris’s playful harshness too much for him right now, as he cries into his hands, ashamed, not wanting Chris to see. He heaves, sobs, trying to be quiet, so frustrated and tired and annoyed with life: it’s cry or punch, and as pathetic as crying can be, at least it saves his knuckles, the nearest object, and his job. 

“Oh, shit,” Chris half laughs, “uh,” he stutters, Isak glad he can’t see him and groaning with disgust when Chris pulls up a chair that Kari uses so he can sit opposite Isak. Isak doesn’t fight it when Chris pulls him into a hug. It’s nice to hug someone other than Eskild, who always ends up getting glitter on him, for unknown reasons, and Chris is strong, his hug slightly painful, squeezing Isak’s ribs, which Isak finds enjoyable, rather than a soft, delicate one. Chris pushes away, sighing. 

“You are a great teacher,” Chris says sincerely, staring at Isak who hangs his head, “we all have bad weeks and even months. You’re learning, so give yourself a break. Secondly,” Chris clears his throat, “I’m really sorry.”

“What for?” Isak asks, blinking at him, sniffing, wiping his face.

“For Friday half term,” Chris winces, “I’m an asshole.”

“True,” Isak adds miserably.

“I thought I was helping you out,” Chris shrugs, “I thought it was a good idea but I was probably taking advantage and you wouldn’t have been comfortable with it so I apologise, because, I like you, curls.” 

Isak frowns, frozen, when Chris makes a face.

“Platonically,” he adds quickly, “you’d be my worst nightmare to date. I know I’m a dick to you but that’s because I like you, huh?”

“Also because you’re a dick,” Isak tells him, starting to feel better. Chris smiles in defeat.

“Yes, also because I’m a dick,” he says grudgingly, “but we’re friends, ok? So let’s hang out more outside of this dump. I was being selfish because I wanted to bang you, you’re cute, but I know you’re a hopeless romantic and I should have respected that lameness. I’m sorry.”

Isak laughs, shaking his head. Chris is unbelievable and Isak likes that.

“I’m not pining for you, bro,” Chris smirks.

“I’m sorry too,” Isak offers, pushing his hair back, “it’s not like I didn’t – wasn’t – thinking about it - ”

“ – obviously, you were almost on top of me,” Chris says, softness and sincerity over with, smirking.

“Alright,” Isak mutters, Chris getting the hint, licking his lips before picking up one of Isak’s pens, playing with it roughly.

“Even came to my flatshare for hot chocolate, after the pub,” Isak tells Chris. Oddly, Isak finds he’s wanting Chris’s opinion, advice. Chris looks at him with interest, gesturing for Isak to continue, Isak shaking his head.

“Well, nothing happened,” he whispers, “but I do think he likes me. He said we’d both end up getting hurt.”

“Yeah?” Chris frowns, “I don’t think Even is capable of hurting anyone,” he scoffs.

“I know, that’s what I think, but then he left, so…”

“Ok, Isak. I’m gonna help you out here. Operation GED is back on,” Chris winks. Isak tilts his head, Chris opening his arms up wide, “Get Even’s Dick? I thought of a code name,” he taps his temple.

Isak wants to stop the smile that’s erupting across his face but he’s weak, so he does, nodding, feeling a little bit of light creep into the darkness. He’s moped around for weeks, falling into old insecurities whilst doing very little to counteract them and he’s sick of it, sick of his self-pity and his lack of action. All is not lost. Isak has hope, and when you have hope, you have everything.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole the very last line from a sign I used to see on my daily commute, when I had to commute, lol, but it felt applicable and I love it <3


	3. Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak's still on a mission to persuade Even to give him a chance, getting by with a little help from a costume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> This was supposed to be 3 chapters but it will be 4. I felt a bit bad about the delay in the update. If I'm writing a WIP I want to update every 3-4 days but I haven't had the chance this past week and a bit so here's a chapter basically of pining, Chris/Isak ***FRIENDSHIP***, fancy dress and some progress in the Evak department.
> 
> I've also started a private writing community for SKAM away from the often negativity of twitter, occasionally AO3. If you're a writer or commenter who may be interested in that please get in touch either on here or on twitter, I'm @skamdalized, I'll give you more information. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks for reading and as always I love to hear your thoughts! <3

_I think I like today_  
I think it’s good  
It’s something I can’t get my head around  
**Good Day - Angels and Airwaves**

Isak writes a line under the past few weeks, as Chris advised. It’s tough to pick yourself back up after a momentary lull but he doesn’t want to become jaded too fast, seeing the same kind of facebook posts pop up from previous friends he trained with, those who decided not to pursue it, teaching not being worth the energy you put in for the little you get out. Isak’s best friend at university, Christina, heard all his frustrations, late night essay writing and lesson planning interrupted by many phonecalls and whatsapp messages. Isak remembers her best advice: “ _success has a different definition for every single person, Isak, stop refreshing facebook and instagram and measuring yourself against everyone else. What does it mean to you?_ ”

Isak’s still working that out.

He begins a religion project with Year 5, in the lead up to Christmas it seems apt to discuss other religious festivals, plus Isak likes the weird yet often satisfyingly smart remarks that children come out with when it comes to this topic. He’s glad he’s not teaching at a religious school even though Christina always sounded like she had it easy with her Wednesday afternoon hymn practices while Isak was slogging through team-teaching Year 4 Maths every Wednesday. Kari is instrumental in helping divide Year 5 into appropriate small groups as Isak gives each group a religion to read about and start their group poster, Isak handing out large felt tip pens when Even knocks on his open door.

“Mr Naesheim!” some of the kids wave, always excited to see Even. Isak’s a little jealous of how easily Even connects with the kids across all the years, his boundless enthusiasm and what Isak assumes is high self-esteem allowing him to dork about without feeling self-conscious, yet effortlessly slipping into firm but fair Head of Year when necessary. 

“Hi,” Isak smiles, making his way over, Even assessing the class silently before smiling at Isak.

“Hey, how are you?” Even asks. He looks quite beautiful in a white and navy pinstripe shirt, black jeans, hair coiffed, a nice image that Isak can feed off for a while, he’s confident of that. Isak’s eyes flickers to his hands, seeing Even’s holding a plate of food, liberally clingfilmed.

“I’m good,” he says quietly, the noise of the kids filtering out as they begin to chat on their tables, “you brought food?” he smiles.

“The cookies I owe Year 5,” Even laughs, “I keep my word.”

“Thanks,” Isak says, stepping closer to take the plate off Even, which gives him some time to appreciate the size of Even’s hands around the plate, hands that Isak now knows are strong and steady, flashbacks of Even holding Isak’s palm. Isak sometimes finds he’s tracing his own finger across the lines Even did that night and it makes him shiver.

“Oh, what’s this? Hinduism?” Even spies, leaning in closer, looking at the yellow table’s book, Isak breaking out of his reverie to agree and explain, Even looking at him with interest.

“You could do an assembly on this,” Even suggests, “I think it would be really interesting and useful for all the kids.”

“Me?” Isak asks, surprised, “yeah, I would love to! We’d love to,” he agrees enthusiastically, eager to do more at _Bekkulaget_ but especially eager to impress Even with an assembly. He’s already making plans and choosing kids in his head, which kids he’ll put up on stage and which kids will be resolutely banned from having any input whatsoever.

“Great, let’s do it,” Even confirms, hand slapping on the door, “be good for Mr. V, Year 5. Catch up with you later,” he adds to Isak, and off he goes. 

*

Isak’s impressed with Year 5, the diligent way they’ve worked, sharing the computers and tablets without too much fuss as they research pictures and draw pictures and practice their best handwriting for their group posters. It’s a high, after a good class, a good day, when kids go home smiling with pen all over their hands and Isak feels it’s been productive, barely looking at the clock yet finding that the hours flew by. He’s carefully putting away their work ready for tomorrow, pushing chairs back in as Chris huffs his way through, precariously balancing a cup of coffee on top of a lot of exercise books, edging towards a table.

“Gonna flick through the little shit’s books in here,” he grunts, “I’m sick of looking at the same four walls.”

“Sure,” Isak shrugs, watching with amusement as Chris takes his coffee, spilling it over half the books before producing his faithful smiley stamp. Isak falls into his chair at his desk, checking over his emails which don’t consist of anything too exciting, half watching Chris as he aggressively stamps, whistling as he does so.

“Can I steal your religion project?” brings Isak back to reality instead of number crunching, eyes reaching Chris’s, “I think I messed up with this Art thing I’m doing. I do not have a creative class,” he moans, leaning back in the tiny chair, looking ridiculous considering the chair is for a ten-year-old girl.

“Yeah, ok,” Isak smiles, “I’m doing assembly with the kids on Friday.”

“Yeah?” Chris asks, perking up, standing and making his way to Isak, “Even asked you?”

“Mhm,” Isak confirms, tapping his fingers on the desk, “so, I want it to be good.”

“Pfft,” Chris smiles, “course you do, curls. It probably is what gets Even off, seeing you be a good boy and organise the perfect, geeky little assembly,” he teases, Isak holding back laughter, “he’ll be pounding you in the P.E closet in no time.”

“Chris!” Isak hisses, eyes flickering to the ajar door of his classroom, Chris not exactly quiet, “do you mind? God! And why do you _always_ assume I’m the one taking it?” he grits, not particularly bothered, but Chris’s comments are always the same, always inferring Isak’s preferences, Isak glaring as he hastily gets up and shuts the door.

“Oh, come on,” Chris rolls his eyes, arms folded, “am I wrong?”

“I - ”, Isak grits out, groaning angrily, “no… but… it’s stupid, anyway, Even wouldn’t – I wouldn’t - ”

“You know, Isak, it’s sad you think so little of yourself,” Chris says, Isak unsure if he’s serious or not, “you say you bottom like it’s shameful, because our society only values masculinity, and masculinity means to penetrate, not be penetrated. Free yourself from internalising all that toxic heteronormativity. I take it in the ass too. Embrace your bottomhood, you adorable little twink.”

“What?” Isak asks, exasperated, eyebrows pushed together.

“I have tumblr. I read Judith Butler,” Chris says, like that explains anything, Isak throwing his hands out.

“You’re a 26-year-old primary school teacher, maybe get off tumblr?” Isak suggests, stepping back so he can look out the small frame of his classroom door. He sees Eva skip by happily, Jonas stomping meaningfully past her, but nothing of Even.

“You know that 26 is young, right?” Chris calls, Isak huffing, “sure, Chris, if you say so.”

“This will do,” he gestures to his half-arsed attempt at marking, “I’ll leave you to your award-winning assembly planning,” raising his eyebrows suggestively as Isak cringes, letting him leave. He sits down and begins to work on a PowerPoint, spending too much time finding the perfect template and adjusting his animations, whispering the slides aloud to himself. Public speaking doesn’t make him nervous, not as a teacher, and kids are a challenging, fun audience, but it’s his first one for Bekkulaget and it must be perfect. He’s almost an hour into it when he groans, frustrated. It shouldn’t be him presenting, it should be Year 5. He was always being told by his previous mentor to not put all the pressure on himself, make the learners do the work, and he’s sure Chris would say something along those lines if he pressed for advice. It’s a wasted hour but he’s ok with it, pressing up from his desk to go and find coffee when he remembers Even’s confession. The door to Year 6 is closed, Isak peering in to see Even hunched over something, Isak wrapping his knuckles on the yellow door before he enters.

“Hey,” he says, fidgeting, Even looking up, a genuine smile on his face as he sees Isak.

“I’ve come to steal some of that coffee,” Isak admits, tilting his head, “I’ll make you one too, if you want.”

“I’ve never been stolen from in such a polite manner,” Even smirks, pushing away from his desk with his long legs, “but I’ll accept, thief.”

“Thief?!” Isak asks, outraged, as he stomps into the room, “you offered me the coffee before half term! I’m taking you up on it.”

“I didn’t offer,” Even says, kneeling down as he opens the bottom cabinet under his desk, “I told you I keep coffee at school…”

“That’s basically an offer,” Isak says, hands on hips, frowning with amusement as Even jumps back up and hands him a small bag, opened slightly. Isak accepts, smelling the ground coffee, already feeling a bit of life come back to him as he breathes it in.

“Thanks, Isak,” Even says, Isak in a daze for a few moments before nodding, leaving hastily. Isak barely drinks coffee but at least he knows this is good and it’s worth it to snatch a few minutes with Even. It’s quiet now, some teachers having left, others still drudging their way through the afternoon, meaning Isak can make coffee in peace without the whurr of the photocopier and the inane small talk in his ear constantly. He lets the coffee set in the cafetiere, deciding to go and see Mahdi briefly, who Isak’s decided is a better level of chill than Chris. He's wandering down the corridor, about to head past the Family Mentoring office - Jonas's - when he’s interrupted by spying Chris, one leg curled under the other as he sits in Jonas’s chair, Jonas leaning against the desk. Isak’s been in there a handful of times, mostly to borrow, yet never return, utensils, Jonas somewhat elusive to him.

Isak doesn’t know what compels him to stand to the side of the door, still able to spy but slightly hindered, the muffle but unmistakable voice of Chris leaking through the cracks of the door. 

“ – didn’t I? I thought I did,” Chris mumbles, a sad sincerity to his voice. Isak leans in to see Chris, head hanging down and a red on his cheeks that Isak doesn’t spot often. Jonas is looking at Chris forlornly, intensely, his hands wedged in the pockets of his blazer.

“Yeah, you did, but…” Jonas trails off, sighing as he shakes his head, “it’s not enough.”

Isak wants to look away. This is a private moment, this isn’t for his consumption, but he’s a Gemini, an obnoxious need-to-know-it-all. He can see half of Chris’s face etched with sadness and it shocks Isak. He knows that behind the bravado of his odd new friend there’s bound to be some well-covered scars, some depth to the seemingly shallow front, but seeing it isn't satisfying.

“No, it’s not,” Chris agrees bitterly, Isak can hear it, Isak glued to the floor as he sees Jonas move in and run his thumb over Chris’s cheekbone, dainty and gentle. That’s a step too far for Isak, he can’t intrude on this, leaving them to their break-up as he finishes coffee for Even. It’s thrown Isak, not hugely, unsettling him but not enough that he can’t put it aside when he walks into Even’s warm classroom, a coffee in each hand. 

“Here,” Isak grins, carefully placing it on a dirty coaster, “and here’s the rest of it,” he adds, the small bag of coffee going next to Even’s drink.

“You’ve managed not to spill it all over me this time,” Even praises, Isak scoffing, “give me time.”

“How’s everything? Is Chris a good mentor?” Even asks, pen poised in his right hand but Isak doesn’t feel he’s unwelcome so he makes himself comfortable, shifting a few books so he can perch opposite Even, sitting on the oak desk. 

“He is,” Isak says, surprise in his voice, “everything’s ok, I’m accepting it can’t always be perfect.”

“That’s wise,” Even smiles, taking the coffee and sipping it.

“Easy for you to say,” Isak flirts, watching as Even’s hand cradles the cup with ease, making it look tiny, “you’re the best teacher I’ve ever seen.” It’s not flattery as such, even though it’s nice to see Even’s cheeks lift in appreciation of the compliment. Isak’s walked past and lingered many a time to see Even nail an explanation on fractions or make a dull part of Norwegian history sound interesting and contemporary. Not only do his own class follow him like fans, but others, from across the school, do. Even can’t walk through the school playground at break without being accosted by children who want to wish him well, ask him questions, tell him the most pressing matter that’s on their mind. 

“I accept that it won’t always be perfect,” Even shrugs, “I’ve fucked up plenty of times. You can’t beat yourself up over it.”

“No,” Isak agrees. It’s bittersweet that as his friend gets his heart broken a few classrooms down the corridor, Isak’s feeling his heart race for the first time in years, clearing his throat and finding some well-hidden courage from deep down inside his stomach.

“Even, everything’s ok, between us, right?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels, chest tight and hands clasped around the nice, hot mug of coffee. Even looks at him very seriously, nodding, nudging his coffee to one side to clasp his hands together and lean closer.

“I hope so,” he says, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Isak - ”

“ - I don’t! I don’t at all,” Isak interrupts, “it’s my fault, anyway, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Even tells him, “as long as you’re ok, that’s all I need to know.”

Isak swings his free leg, toes scraping along the carpet as he does so, unable to be perfectly still, nodding.

“I still think…,” Isak begins, faltering, which Even takes as a perfect opportunity to politely shoot him in the heart, “it’s best if you don’t,” Even says pointedly, “let’s move forward. We’re both in agreement on that,” he finishes, with a finality that Isak daren’t question, not because it’s harsh or dismissive or cruel but because Even says it with such confidence that Isak almost believes it himself. 

They chat about stationery until Isak leaves Even to his classroom, the winter evening setting in and his half-drunk coffee cold.

*

Isak chews over the encounters of the week for a few days, creeping Chris out with his sincere offers to go for lunch together or join Chris’s Saturday football team.

_“Sorry, Isak, you want to join my football team? We actually like winning - ”_

_“ – I’m a good footballer, asshole, I played throughout high school, a little at uni - ”_

_“ – sucking all the footballer’s cocks doesn’t count as ‘playing football’, Isak,”_

Chris had bitched in this vein for a good five minutes and Isak had almost taken the bait but decided against it, knowing that he was playing into Chris’s wind up games every time he had a tantrum. 

Isak feels shady, somehow, that he’s keeping a secret from Chris who has always been so honest with him but he also suspects that if he brings Jonas up Chris will simply shut him down. He’s got other things on his mind, such as the assembly and breaking Even’s resolve bit by bit, Chris can wait, even if Isak feels gentle jolts of sympathy when Chris doesn’t notice Isak’s looking at him. 

Even flutters in and out on his days; whenever Isak passes him in the corridors he asks Isak if Isak needs anything for Friday, his assembly. Isak checks out the sound equipment so his kids have mics and the trusted over-head projector, getting them to rehearse at break times. He takes a chance on Kenneth, muttering to himself as he puts Kenneth down for reading out the extract on Hinduism, (“challenging enough for you, Neegard?”) and organises who he wants where, scouring pinterest for quotes about coexistence and acceptance. It’s his mini-project in-between actual teaching and he’s thankful to palm Year 5 off to the P.E specialist, a trainee in his second year, for an hour so he can really focus. Focus is key, preparation is essential for success, Isak knows this, yet he finds himself on ASOS looking for a smart shirt all the same. He’ll borrow Eskild’s next day delivery log-in. Isak is hardly extravagant when it comes to spending, burrowing all his money from training away in his account, so he can afford a nice shirt for assembly. He flirts with more adventurous colours and designs but eventually picks a plain, long-length button down shirt, a soft pastel shade of pink, going a size smaller than he normally would so it will fit snugly and adding a camel-coloured belt to his basket. 

He jumps when Eva runs into his classroom, out of breath, excited, quickly minimising his tabs.

“What?” he asks, sounding much grumpier than he intended.

“It’s World Book Day or Literacy Day or Fancy Dress day tomorrow, I don’t know,” she gasps, “wanna dress up?”

“No,” Isak tuts, “I don’t dress up.”

“Why? It’ll be fun, come on, all of Lower Juniors are,” she says, pretty smile erupting across her face, Isak not convinced. He shrugs, the lowest form of commitment, but Eva is sweet and takes it, skipping her way back out. He asks Magnus about it as they both their way to their cars, Magnus enthusiastic as he describes his gorilla outfit.

“You’re going to be a gorilla?” Isak laughs, unlocking his car, Magnus shrugging in agreement, “my kids are six years old, I’m keeping it simple,” is Magnus’s excuse. 

He lounges around the flat, corners Eskild and begs for his ASOS log-in, cooks a lacklustre pasta dish and settles in bed for nine. He often wonders if he’s wasting his time on this, saving his money, dedicating all his time and energy to work when his peers from school, university seem to be finding themselves in Rajasthan and spending their minimum wage paychecks on acid and Adidas. Isak’s always preferred the quiet, tranquil life, even if he is partial to the odd drop of acid or a nice pair of Adidas trainers. He’s happy on the drive to work, humming to the radio, Eskild teasing him in his pocket as he sends him memes about his new work crush, sussing out that’s why Isak wanted his log-in information. Isak can afford to move out but there’s something comforting about living with Eskild and his glittery, both metaphorically and literally, ways. 

Isak stops short of banging into Vilde when he enters the staffroom, all staff dressed up, in some form of another. Eva is Harry Potter, waving her wand at Jonas, who’s dressed rather regally, before he notices Chris.

“You two are such spoil sports,” Chris, the female Chris, of Year 1 hisses at them, “you haven’t even tried.”

“Excuse me, I am dressed up,” Chris frowns, sunglasses still on. He’s wearing a leather jacket and white jeans and Isak’s quite sure he’s got a soft shade of pink lipgloss on, though he daren’t question it. 

“As who?”

“I’m the straight, white, good looking, male protagonist of all books, of all time,” Chris shrugs, “an absolute classic character.”

Isak and the girls blink at him in disbelief when Isak jumps, someone wrapping their arm around his chest from behind, Isak looking down to a toy sword held against his chest. Isak knows it’s Even because he, pathetically, knows how Even smells, the hint of his detergent and possibly an aftershave he uses with the coffee he drinks, homely and welcoming. He doesn’t want to giggle like a lovedrunk teenager but he does, Chris scoffing good-naturedly, Isak attempting to wriggle away in Even’s arms, glad when Even just tightens his grip. 

“Ahoy me hearties,” Even grins against Isak’s hair, still holding a squirming Isak, to Isak’s delight, “so someone thinks he’s above dressing up, hmm?” Even asks, spinning around and letting Isak stumble away, Isak dumb with happiness for a few seconds until he realises everyone is looking at him expectantly. 

“Me? He’s not dressed up,” Isak says miserably, looking at Chris with hatred.

“Chris is the straight white male protagonist, of all books, of all time,” Even says, sliding his sword back into the belt that fits nicely around his narrow hips, locating an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it happily, “that’s obvious.”

Chris salutes Even in gratitude.

“I told you to dress up,” Eva sing-songs in her robe, Isak admittedly feeling like a fool for not taking it seriously, looking at the expectant faces of Harry, Gorilla Magnus, Pirate Even, Fairy Girl!Chris… 

“Even, Isak could be your wench,” Chris says smugly, “we could find a dress from the old stock cupboard.”

“What? No way,” Isak argues, resolute. 

“Guys can wear dresses,” Magnus offers helpfully, clumsily stirring sugar in his tea, his paws removed and on the main table, Isak shaking his head.

“I’m not saying that they can’t, it’s not the dress I object to,” Isak explains, “but a wench? That’s just degrading! I could be a pirate too!”

“No,” Chris states, like he’s the authority in the room, “oh – you could be a mermaid?”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Even lights up, jangling as he strides around the staffroom, throwing away his half-eaten apple and looking like a treat with eyeliner smudged on the rim of his eyes, Isak sees. No one’s paying much attention anymore, wandering out to parents and the trickle of children arriving, the day beginning and the school filling with noise, Isak scoffing.

“So you just so happen to have a mermaid costume lying around?” Isak laughs, “yeah, ok. I’m not wearing a bra or a crop top, that’s inappropriate, it’s - ”

“Jesus, Isak, this isn’t a strip club, I was the mermaid last year, calm down,” Chris sighs, “there’s a glittery top somewhere and a fake mermaid’s tale, like a big skirt, I think we stuffed them in Nursery’s back cupboard, go and bother Vilde,” and with that he’s gone, Isak awkward as he looks for assistance, Even watching him coolly.

“You don’t have to dress up,” Even says, still unnerving to look at with make-up on, “don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to be the odd one out,” Isak admits, already feeling daft despite the fact he’s the only one dressed normally, “and, mermaids are badass, right?”

“Yeah,” Even laughs, “come on, then.” 

Isak doesn’t need Even to take him to pre-school but it’s nice that he does, the first few parents and children in awe of his well put-together outfit, Even teasing Isak by poking him with the toy sword, Isak attempting to swipe it off Even but always a little too slow. Vilde is strange, to Isak, always on edge but pleasant enough. Isak can’t think of anything more awful than caring for the tiny children she has to watch out for all day. He clambers over toys and past sandpits to find the back cupboard, coughing as he opens the door and clouds of dust follow, scrounging around in black binbags to find the infamous mermaid costume. 

“You want me to help?” Even calls, but Isak’s adamant he’s fine, crouched in the tiny space as he rummages, striking gold.

“Got it,” he wheezes, heading back out and blissfully able to stand straight again, dusting down the old, tired costume.

“Can you do that outside?” Vilde snaps, “not in my classroom?”

“Ah, sorry,” Even whispers, taking Isak by the elbow gently and leaving her to it, both of them giggling like naughty school children, Even fingering the fabrics of the mermaid clothes.

“See? These are fine,” he says to Isak, holding up the long blue skirt with shiny, plastic blue squares attached to it, resembling scales if you squint, and a sparkly, clingy, pink top, complete with a seashell necklace. Isak finishes dusting them down, accepting he’s going to look like Eskild on a particularly extravagant night out, Even looking at him with curiosity. 

“You sure you want to wear it?”

“It’s fine,” Isak smiles, “yeah, why not. It’ll be fun.”

Fun is perhaps the wrong word for it, but Isak can’t say he hates it, swishing into class in the long, sparkly blue skirt and the tight pink top that leaves very little to the imagination, a curved neck that sits on his collarbones, shells jangling down to his belly button. The children love seeing their usually strict teacher dressed up and glittery, complimenting the skirt and after twenty minutes of fawning over him they settle, ready for Maths and finishing their religion project. Isak isolates the gaggle of kids he wants up on stage tomorrow to practice their reading, getting Kari to oversee that, almost forgetting he’s dressed like the campest man alive until they do playground duty in the afternoon, parents collecting their kids from Nursery and Reception peering at him with wonder. 

“Why is it, you explain you’re dressed as a mermaid to kids, and after two questions, they’re fine, but parents look at you like you’ve just shat on their car?” Isak mumbles to Chris, who’s taking the opportunity to be gawked at and running wild with it, throwing smiles and winks at Mums and Dads who scuttle quickly to pre-school.

“Adults are judgmental assholes,” Chris says quietly, not that any children are close enough to hear them, “kids are the best. That’s why I’m a teacher. I can’t deal with adults.”

“Hmm,” Isak agrees, in a way, lifting his skirt to kick the stray football back to the Year 4 girls who are playing a ferocious game of it. Isak suddenly realises it’s cold, and that may be why parents are looking at him bizarrely, stood in the middle of the playground in a tiny, shiny vest top.

“Where’s your pirate, huh? We’re babysitting his brats as well out here,” Chris mutters, the football making their way back to them, Chris kicking it far too roughly, sending it flying.

“We’re capable of manning three classes between us,” Isak rolls his eyes in Even’s defence, “Even loves being out here, he’ll be making phone calls or something.”

He can’t deny he’s happy to see Even bound out as he finishes that sentence, Isak looking over at Chris with a “told you so” smug smirk plastered on his face.

“You know, Isak, you kind of suit that look,” Even says, Isak unsure if he’s joking or not, “you shouldn’t, but…”

“Yeah, he’s every daddy’s dream. All those straight guys are creaming their oh hey, Ingrid, go away!” Chris yells, caught off guard as one of his girls interrupts their conversation, making all of them jump, “this is an important meeting, Ingrid, go and play football,” he shouts, Ingrid sighing before storming off, Chris mortified.

“Hopefully she doesn’t know what creaming means,” Even mutters, looking so sincere that Isak can’t help it, howling with laughter, joined by Even. Chris is bright red, adorably so, murmuring swear words before he goes to keep a closer eye on the football, Isak clutching his ribs as he settles into a grin rather than laughter.

“These kids are like ninjas,” Isak quips, Even pulling out the plastic, cheap toy sword from his belt, holding it up as a warning, looking at Isak defiantly. 

“Please,” Isak groans, “I’m a mermaid. You’re just a hopeless pirate. I could drown you.”

“Unlikely,” Even says, tapping Isak’s arm with it, “I’m a man of the sea. I can swim.”

“Put it away, Naesheim,” Isak jokes, grabbing the tip and yanking it, taking Even by surprise as he swipes the sword for himself, Even blinking at him like he can’t believe Isak did it, making to grab it back but Isak steps back.

“Oh dear,” Isak says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “looks like you’re in trouble,” he smiles, turning the sword around and pointing it in Even’s direction, “you’ll have to beg for mercy now, pirate.”

Isak’s surprised that the kids haven’t jumped in on the game but glad of it, knowing if this was lower juniors his flirting session would be thwarted by Year 2 and 3. Even walks closer, with added swagger, Isak unable to decide if that’s Even, or the pirate. The tip of the toy sword rests in the dip inbetween his collarbones, neatly covered by the baggy white shirt. Isak presses down, wondering if he could mark Even at all, Even holding him captive with a meaningful look.

“Wait there,” Even tells him, Isak obeying, watching as Even jogs over to Chris and back, beckoning Isak back into school, Isak following noisily, the skirt heavy after a day’s wear, little squares rubbing together and scraping the floor. He lifts it slightly so he can match Even’s pace, past the Garden of Peace and into Upper Juniors. Even’s still charging ahead, holding the door open for Isak as Isak laughs in confusion, excitedly walking through the hall, into the small, dusty cupboard of lost property, spare P.E kits and years-old netballs discarded across the floor –

Even shoves him against the first two benches, apparatus shaking and tennis balls flying off the shelf as Even kisses him hungrily, Isak immediate, throwing himself off the edge of the cliff and deep into unknown waters without a moment’s thought, hot and needy as Even’s hands find their way to his hips, teasing and obvious in the tiny, tight top. The kiss breaks for a mere second, but that’s all, Even back on his mouth and Isak hears a whimper escape from his own lips before he brings Even even closer by the neck, digging his nails in, hoping Even’s eyeliner smudges against his cheek.

“You,” Even groans, in-between kisses, “you’re too – you’re - ”

“Please,” Isak begs, Even pushing away at the skirt so forcefully it rips slightly, some smaller squares pinging off, a large hand snaking its way under and grabbing at Isak’s thigh, Isak feeling himself be squeezed by Even, groaning with a stutter.

Even licks Isak’s lips and Isak is lost to that, head back as he lets Even leave his thighs alone to push his hands up and get their pound of flesh from his ass, squeezing, taking. Isak can barely stand it, forcing a kiss on Even’s lips again, Even softer and slower this time and Isak comes down to his level, Even’s hands not as rough, as desperate, as he takes Isak’s face with them before they come to a standstill, breathing heavily against each other. 

“If I’d have known you were so into sea life...” Isak teases, Even huffing out a laugh against his mouth. 

“Just you,” Even admits, Isak holding back a smug smile, “you, all cute and weirdly sexy in a mermaid’s costume.”

“Says you,” Isak giggles, “god, this morning, when I saw you, in eyeliner, and this dumb belt,” Isak groans, pulling on it, Even thrusting against him softly, a promise of what’s to come. 

“We need to get back out there, Chris said I had five minutes,” Even mutters, kissing Isak’s cheek again, nose encountering Isak’s, Isak nuzzling up as Even nuzzles down, arms wrapped around Isak’s waist firmly. Isak closes his eyes as he rests against Even’s cheek. Chris, who owes him a thousand favours, can wait, he thinks. He’s nervous, though, adrenaline pumping through, and he knows how stressful a class is, never mind three, so he begins to wriggle out of Even’s hold, Even letting go easily.

“Does this mean I can take you out on a date?” Isak asks, pink in the face, mouth wet, Even smiling, a pleasant reluctance still apparent as he leaves Isak hanging. 

“ _I’ll_ take _you_ out,” Even murmurs, Isak feeling the blood rush downwards.

“Is that right?”

“I think you need someone to take care of you,” Even says, voice quiet but it sounds loud in the silence of the cupboard. Isak flinches under his gaze, still as Even moves closer once more and takes one last kiss.

“Ready?” he asks Isak, Isak wanting to stand and purr against the dirty wall here for hours if it means Even’s standing in front of him, looking him down, lips on his, hands on him, when Even nudges his chin with his thumb, wanting a proper response. Isak nods reluctantly, Even kicking open the door to the rest of the world, blinding light in Even’s eyes, a warm sense of optimism curling inside Isak, hopeful.

*


	4. Start The Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak's on a rollercoaster as Even blows hot and cold, but everything falls together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me and for reading this story. Every kudo & comment is so appreciated in a small fandom like this. I am grateful and I hope you've enjoyed this fic.
> 
> I do have a private writer's comm, please DM me (ughasif_x) for details. Clearly, I do not have my DMs open but comment here or @ me and we'll figure it out.
> 
> You guys, reading this, leaving me kudos, and comments? Oh, you guys, you're the fucking best. I know there are a lot of open-minded, funny, intelligent, cool, non-judgemental people out there, and I love ya.
> 
> WARNINGS: smut, explicit sex, dirty talk, unsafe sex, anxiety.
> 
>  
> 
> *****
> 
> A note on Christmas: I am totally aware not everyone celebrates Christmas and while you could assume that here, in this school, everyone is white and Christian and celebrates, I’ve worked in different schools and of course people with no religion or different religions can opt out but what I’ve found is actually children, people, like to get involved in cultural celebrations regardless of different faiths whether that’s celebrating Eid, as one school I’ve worked in did with Muslim and non-Muslim children and families to Diwali, Christmas etc. This is just a fanfiction so I didn’t want to lay on a big discussion around cultural differences but I of course know that and I know what this fandom is like lmao so I’m just pointing out that I’m aware of it, but this practice does happen at least in the U.K, it may be different in American/Canadian/European/Asian/etc schools.

If love’s a word, that you say  
Then say it, I will listen  
**Start The Machine – Angels & Airwaves**

Isak’s checking through the presentation slides and whispering to himself, the assembly hall empty, his whispers loud as rehearses his small interjections and encouragements he’ll say to Ingrid, Kenneth, Thomas and friends. It’s 7.30am, early, Isak making small amendments as he stands on the eerily quiet stage, clicking. He’s done enough presentations in his time as a teacher to know never to rely on technology, to check it three, four, eight times before having any confidence whatsoever that it will actually work. 7.30am easily becomes 8.30am and Isak decides enough is enough, leaving the smartboard and laptop open as he potters back to class and begins to welcome Year 5 in, listening to their stories about last night’s dinner and tantrums and their excitement as November turns into December, Christmas becoming a tantalising reality.

It’s a dark morning, frosty and grey, but it’s Friday and the kids have had their first Advent chocolate. Isak’s bought a class Advent calendar, writing a reminder for himself and the children on his whiteboard.

 _Best behaved Year 5 gets the Advent chocolate!_ he scrawls in a red marker pen to excited “Mr. Valtersen! Me, me!”s, to which he hushes them down, telling them they’ll have to see the day out before he and Kari decide who’s worthy. 

Assembly is a hassle, in general. Isak herds Year 5 into the hall, telling them to line quietly and neatly as each year begins to fill the assembly, chairs squeaking as they wriggle into them from Reception to Year 6. Isak oversees Year 5 sitting down, telling them firmly to be supportive of their classmates and be well behaved before taking his selection for assembly with him to the side of the stage. Isak likes Bekkulaget’s hall; it’s small, cosy, for a small, cosy school. He sees Mahdi calmly settling down Reception, Magnus harassed by Year 3, until he sets his eyes on Even, standing near the back with a smile, arms crossed. He waves, Isak returning it. 

“You look nice, Mr. Valtersen,” Ingrid says, Isak ripping his eyes away from Even and trying not to show his amusement, murmuring thanks, before he gathers them round. 

“You’ve all done assemblies before, right?” he asks, perhaps for the seven-hundredth time, the kids nodding in unison, indulging him. 

“Good,” Isak smiles, “me too, but this is my first time at this school, remember?”

“We know, Mr. Valtersen, it’ll be amazing,” Kenneth says, sincere as always. Isak hates the way anxiety is curling around his stomach and squeezing tightly when he knows he’s more than capable of leading an assembly. He’s only facilitating it anyway, the kids are doing the work, yet still his heart is racing and he feels nervous. 

“Alright,” Isak smiles, “five minutes and we’ll start, ok?”

He snakes past the first row of Reception and round to the laptop he has ready, shuffling past to turn on the smartboard, setting up the slideshow, the school interested, looking up at the bright screen. It’s not fancy, Isak didn’t want to go overboard, just a nicely decorated introductory slide of **Year 5 – Religion** , but when he sees his peers and the children peering up at it, looking, waiting, as he looks down at his hand carefully poised over the laptop’s next button, it’s shaking gently. 

Isak clears his throat and steps out from the comfort of being hidden by the little stand that’s propping up the laptop until he’s standing in the middle of the stage, all eyes are on him. There’s a prolonged, uneasy silence, Isak feeling the fear inside him tighten, beginnings of whispered giggles and mumbles from children.

“Ah, good morning – good morning everyone,” Isak forces himself to say, clapping his hands together, adrenaline kicking in, “Year 5 have worked hard to, uh…”

He’s losing his train of thought, throat clogging up, the humiliation of freezing in front of the school whipping through him before he shakes his head.

“Sorry! I, uh,” he laughs, “Year 5 have been doing lots of hard work this week. I want you to listen carefully and enjoy the assembly.”

He walks awkwardly back to the stand, turning to smile at his group and beckoning them on stage. His internal voice is screeching at him that he’s messing this up, useless at it, a long pause until Thomas says, “um, the slide, Mr. V?” at him, drawing a few laughs, Isak startled, “oh, sorry, yes,” he rushes, clicking, Thomas launching into his enthusiastic speech about religion, what it is and the names of the world’s biggest religions.

Isak feels both mortified and relieved when someone, Chris, pats his arm, muttering, “don’t worry curls, I’ll do your bit,” ushering him away. Isak goes to protest, he’s fine, he can stand here and smile and click and move the kids on swiftly but he realises he’s breathing open-mouthed and his vision is slightly off.

“Isak,” Chris whispers more forcibly, everyone’s attention still on the gregarious Thomas, “go on, now, it’s fine.”

Isak darts off quickly, pushing through the hall doors, breathing in deeply, and out, as he finds his way to the P.E changing rooms, the toilets, opening and slamming back the door of the large toilet at the end before sinking down, back stuck to the cubicle door.

_What’s wrong with you? It’s just an assembly. Why can’t you handle it?_

“I can,” Isak sighs, speaking to no one, “I can, I’m just,” he groans, “I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face, annoyed. He tenses as he hears the door squeak open, loud footsteps, a knock on the cubicle door.

“Isak?” Even asks, Isak rolling his eyes in embarrassment as he shifts, unlocking the door, Even pressing inwards.

“Hey,” Even says cheerfully, locking the door again as he mirrors Isak’s position, sitting opposite him. Isak rubs his eye, convinced he must look terrible, pale and patchy, Even letting his hand dangle off his knee as he eyes Isak up.

“I don’t even know what – did I look stupid?” Isak asks, insecurities eating away at him.

“Not at all,” Even shakes his head slowly, “I didn’t notice anything. I saw Chris go up and take over, you come out… I wanted to check you’re ok.”  


Isak can hear the drip-drop of one of the taps outside the cubicle, practically deafening, closing his eyes and sighing. They sit in a contented, relaxed silence, before Even gently kicks Isak’s shin. 

“Hey,” Even repeats, “what’s going on?”

Isak shakes his head. He can’t think of the words, he can only think of his feelings and he can’t voice those. Even moves his hand and holds it out, a gesture, Isak scooting forward, taking it, their hands dropping to a comfortable point, joined together softly, Isak focusing on the trickling tap, attempting to block out his internal voice and its doubtful words.

“You can talk to me if you need to, Isak,” Even says, squeezing Isak’s fingers, “you know that?”

Isak smiles weakly, squeezing back, appreciative. If he concentrates he can hear Christmas music playing, the last part of the assembly and sure enough he can hear people singing along, Even laughing.

“I wish I was there, I love this song,” he grins, Isak scoffing, “should have known you’re a Christmas fan.”

“You _don’t_ like Christmas? I know you’re a grumpy baby, but…”

“I’m not grumpy, or a baby,” Isak protests, “and I do, I’m just not a sad weirdo who sings Christmas songs.”

“You spoil all my fun,” Even accuses kindly, dramatically rising to his feet and dragging Isak up with him, Isak making a face as his arm is almost pulled out of his socket but then he’s pressed up close to Even and before he loses his nerve he brings Even in for a kiss, hands on his cheekbones, Even relenting and kissing him back, soft, needy, talented kisses that make Isak forget himself and moan gently. He follows Even’s lips as Even drags them away from him, Isak’s head dipping, Even moving back in to leave one teasing kiss on Isak’s mouth, before unlocking the door, whistling as he leaves Isak fizzing with need. Isak shakes his head, collecting himself, splashing his face with ice cold water before dabbing himself dry and making his way back sheepishly to the hall. He slips in, standing at the side as he watches Chris thank everyone and thank Year 5 for their assembly. It’s bittersweet, seeing Chris take control of Isak’s project, because Chris is good at being on stage and he’s warm and funny but it’s a reminder to Isak once again his anxieties got the better of him.

Isak claps with the rest of them as Chris and the kids finish, standing aimlessly as the year starts to filter out, rushing to take Year 5 with him and briefly smiling at Chris in gratitude. Year 5 don’t seem to notice Isak’s not on form, hyped up and on good behaviour as they battle it out to be good for the end of the day chocolate. Isak barely catches a break all day, in Jonas’s room to collect papers from him and then printing all lunch time for his bingo games in the afternoon. He’s thankful he’s busy because it gives him less time to reflect on the assembly, twinges of guilt catching him if he lets himself remember. 

He dramatically throws himself into his chair at 3.43pm and the last kid has taken their Mama’s hand and been led away for the weekend, Kari giggling at him.

“It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” she asks, as if she’s unsure.

“Yeah, it has,” Isak confirms, spinning slowly, “I’m ready for the weekend though.”

“You always are,” she teases, grabbing her scarf from the small room adjacent to their classroom, “I’ll see you Monday, Isak.”

“Kari?” he shouts, shooting back up, looking at her properly, “I just want to say – thanks.”

“For?” she queries, eyebrows knitting together.

“You’re a really good TA,” Isak tells her, “thank you.”

“That’s so sweet!” she laughs, “thanks.”

Isak collapses back and spins again as she leaves. He’ll get up soon and clear his desk, type up some reports, clear the tables, check what books he wants to take home for marking. It’s almost Christmas and he should be excited, he is excited, but it’s always slightly miserable. Isak always wanted to share it with someone he loves but that’s never happened, unless you count his first boyfriend, Julian. They didn’t spend Christmas Day together but in the run up to Christmas Julian bought him Advent gifts every day, not that they were impressive: a cheap keyring, a mug, a tie, his favourite chocolate, but they were cute. Isak thought he was in love at 18 but he knows he wasn’t.  
He hears Chris stomp into his room and he gives him the finger before crossing his arms, still spinning round on the chair lazily.

“Charming,” Even mutters, Isak whizzing back to the front, blinking rapidly.

“Ah, sorry, I thought you were Chris,” he mutters, feeling his face pinken, Even smirking. 

“It’s ok,” Even assures him, “just wanted to see you before I go home.”

“It’s 4.30,” Isak frowns, “you never leave early.”

“I have some stuff,” Even shrugs, moving forward to Isak’s desk, “but I wanted to say you did a good job today with organising assembly. Plus, you look _incredible_ today. I wanted one last look.”

Isak can’t help the grin overtaking his face, biting his bottom lip, making a mental note to kiss Eskild for the next day delivery details. 

“Stand up, let me get a good look at you,” Even demands, Isak feeling warmth overtake him, pushing his chair out so he has room to stand, the pink shirt tucked into smart black jeans. Even makes a circular motion with his finger and Isak huffs, but obliges, turning slowly.

“Stop there,” Even instructs, Isak’s back to him, so Isak does, enthralled, mouth falling open slightly when he feels Even move so that he’s against Isak’s back, hands coming to his hips. Isak lets his neck go limp, Even’s mouth perfect on his jaw, neck, not kissing, just moving gently across him. 

“This is very tight,” he says darkly, pulling at some of the shirt with his thumb and forefinger, “obscenely tight.”

“Is it inappropriate, Even?” Isak asks, well aware the curve of his ass is pressing into Even’s crotch, that any other teacher or colleague could open the door and see them. 

“Maybe. I don’t care, though. It suits you,” Even mutters, “but it makes me want to rip it up and fuck you in it.”  


Isak takes a sharp breath in, Even’s hand easily reaching his thigh now, his hot skin on Isak’s cool neck.

“Yeah, Isak? You want that?”

“Yes,” Isak admits, groaning slightly, trying not to grind but desperately wishing he could, Even’s grip solid and deep, fingertips digging in, before he cruelly kisses Isak’s jaw and lets go, slipping away.

“Hey,” Isak says in disbelief, “that’s so unfair!”

Even grins at him as he walks towards the door, winking as he steps out, Isak falling back into the spinning chair. He’s alive with the energy Even brought into the room, trying hard not to bounce up to the ceiling when he finds he’s up and walking, sneaking into Year 4, Chris with his sleeves rolled up at the small sink to the back of his class, washing paint palettes.

“Mr. V,” Chris greets, “been meaning to come and speak to you today,” he says, scooping green and blue out, splashing the paint across the basin messily.

“Even just came onto me in my room,” Isak hushes, “it was so hot, Chris.”

“Well, I hope your washed your face, you little slut,” Chris quips, Isak taking residence on one of the small tables, sitting down as he watches Chris clean.

“You know what I mean.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Chris raises an eyebrow, scrubbing manically, “I’m not surprised at you spreading your legs at work, but Even? Asking me to brat babysit so he could finger you in the P.E changing rooms? What a guy!”

“That is NOT - ”

“ – and now he’s giving you facials at work, I mean - ”

“ - _you’re_ one to talk, Chris, you’ve been fucking Jonas,” Isak blurts, with immediate regret. Chris bangs the empty palette on the side of the sink and swills water across it, cleaning his hands, Isak searching for the right words in his head.

“Sorry,” Isak says, but he’s blind here, stumbling around with nothing to add because Chris has never explained what happened with Jonas or why. Isak knows it’s not a joke, knows it’s something serious and difficult and Chris is neither of those things because Chris’s face changes, his carefree outlook replaced by defensive walls. 

“It’s fine,” Chris shrugs, angrily drying his hands with a nearby towel, “we never fucked at work though. I’m a professional and I can keep my cock in my pants, unlike you two horndogs.”

“Nothing’s _happened_ at school,” Isak assures him, kicking a chair, “do you, er, wanna talk about Jonas?”

“I’m not a teenage girl,” Chris snaps, “I don’t need to dissect my feelings and cry about it with you until we go on an empowering night out where I drink too much tequila and suck several bartender’s cocks, so please, spare me.”

“That wasn’t going to be my suggestion,” Isak says, trying not to laugh, “and there’s nothing wrong with talking about your feelings.”

Chris makes a noise of hatred, a gurgle mixed with a groan, before he nods.

“Fine,” he spits, “but let’s go outside and smoke while we do it. You’ve got three minutes of conversation and then I’m back to ballsac jokes.”

“Ok,” Isak agrees, following Chris as he walks speedily, checking them out of school as they walk to the undesignated smoking area seeing as there’s technically no area for smokers, anymore, on school property. Isak feels mischievous as they huddle around the narrow back of the school, Chris fishing for his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out with his teeth. He offers the pack to Isak, who gingerly accepts; smoking is something he can really take or leave. Chris lights himself first and then Isak, taking a deep drag.

“Ok, curls. Chris and Jonas, a summary: I met Jonas at uni, we fucked, we were friends. We only got together after uni, about 4 years ago, we’ve had breaks in those four years but I really thought this last year that we were good,” Chris tells Isak. Isak is close enough to see Chris has freckles, that his eyelashes aren’t as long as Isak previously thought they were and he has a small scar on the corner of his mouth. Isak still thinks he’s handsome, in the way one might appreciate their stepbrother is good looking.

“What happened?” Isak asks, taking a quick drag of his cigarette, not particularly enjoying it.

“Over the summer he said he didn’t feel what he should feel,” Chris shrugs, tapping ash from the cigarette, “he didn’t love me enough, or something,” he adds, Isak knowing how that feels.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Chris.

“Yeah, well,” Chris sighs, “it’s ok. I spent August listening to Adele and getting stoned.”

“Of course.”

“I thought I could make him change his mind,” Chris says sadly, “but he’s adamant. We’ve fucked a few times since but I think the last time really was the last time.”

“Maybe you’ll drift back to each other again,” Isak suggests, throwing away his half-smoked cigarette, “if it’s meant to be.”

“You sound like my Grandma, curls,” Chris grins, still pulling deeply on his cigarette, “that, plus she said he looks like he’d be a good fuck.”

Isak coughs out a laugh, Chris smirking.

“Is he?” Isak asks rebelliously, Chris scoffing, “you’ve got Prince Charming to jack off to Isak, why do you want to steal my man too, you little bitch?”

“I don’t,” Isak snaps, “I’m just intrigued.”

“Not my man,” Chris corrects himself, “but, yeah, of course, I didn’t spend years of my life in love with a guy who’s shit in bed.”

“True,” Isak smiles, and he steps in, bringing his arms around Chris who tenses, his body stiff, neck twisting away from Isak as Isak forces the hug upon him.

“Please stop whatever it is you’re doing, shit for brains,” Chris hisses, “get off me.”

“It’s a hug,” Isak explains, squeezing around Chris’s body, “it’s comforting.”

“It’s awful and I hate it,” Chris states, but he could easily pluck Isak off him and shove him away yet he remains standing, smoking. Isak feels him loosen up slightly, making him smile in triumphant before he gives in and frees his friend from the torturous affection.

“I fucking hate you,” Chris says quietly, throwing the butt of the cigarette down a drain. Isak knows it’s the closest he’ll ever get to a “I love you”, and he takes it.

*

Isak has a mate date with Eskild that Friday, high off the day’s events, Eskild cooking thai curry and Isak assisting by pouring wine for Eskild and opening beers for himself. They eat the delicious food and proceed to get drunk and slightly stoned, Isak not a huge fan of weed these days but it’s nice now and then, Eskild telling him tales of boys and work and Isak confiding in him about Even. They end the night lazing on the sofa, snacking, until Eskild falls asleep, Isak covering him the blankets before heading to bed himself. He attempts to do some Christmas shopping on the Saturday, groaning and wondering why he bothered, spending an hour until he skulks back home and does a little more online without the hassle of people. He wastes Sunday but doesn’t feel particularly bad about it, meeting Christina from uni for lunch and doing a Chris style marking session with stamps before an early night.

He can’t deny that work is more exciting with the promise of something happening between him and Even. Eskild, Linn, even his parents have bizarre ideas in their heads that all Isak does all day is play with glitter, sandcastles and teddy bears with pink-cheeked little delights who adore him endlessly, finishing at 3.00pm every day and constantly on holiday. Teaching is fun, and exciting, but it can be a slog when you’ve thrown your lesson plan to the wayside and you’re just begging them to do the work, when kids cry and shout and hate you, and hate everyone else, when you’re covering a topic you don’t even like yourself. 

It gives Isak a little more energy knowing he’ll catch glances of Even, a knowing look, a quick touch.

It’s been long enough, and Isak’s ready for that promised date.

There’s two weeks until Christmas and Isak’s almost ready to just hand out the generic Christmas resources, give up on tying Christmas into his scheme of work and just let them go to town making paper reindeers and writing letters to Santa but he’s managing to reign himself in and make sure he doesn’t become completely lazy, still slipping in original projects and avoiding Christmas movies at least until the last day of term. Year 5 go home tired on Wednesday after a busy afternoon in P.E, Isak smiling as they yawn and slope off with their parents, Isak staying behind to help out with the dance club as he has done since he started at Bekkulaget. 

It's probably something he should be embarrassed about but he isn’t, the fact that dance club has, in a way, become a way for him to wear something a little slinkier and hope he catches Even’s eye a few times. He started off wearing loose tracksuit bottoms and a P.E shirt and now he’s in tight gym tops and lycra running shorts, unable to stop himself with fifteen minutes until it begins from bounding into Even’s classroom excitedly, Even typing away at his laptop.

“Hi,” Isak grins, strutting over to him, “just wanted to swing by,” he flirts, easing his way over to Even’s desk, sliding close.

“Hi, Isak,” Even says, coolly, eyes flicking upwards but going back to his computer screen. Isak frowns, sensing he is entirely unwelcome, the opposite of what he was expecting. 

“How’s your week going?” he tries, Even typing away, looking up, smiling briefly, “good, thank you.”

An uncomfortable silence passes, Isak folding his arms but still peering down at Even, who eventually gives in and looks up at Isak. 

“What’s up?” Isak asks, reaching out for his shoulder, caressing it gently, Even looking awkward, unwilling, making Isak stop with reluctance. 

“I’m sorry, Isak,” Even says with a heaviness to his voice that Isak recognises. It’s a heaviness Isak’s heard from Julian, when Julian told him he had met someone else. Isak can’t stop the shame, the embarrassment, that rises in him, laughing at him for being so foolish and falling so fast when all it was was an idea, a flirtation, not the unstoppable romance Isak built in his own imagination. 

“What for?” Isak demands. He needs to hear an explanation. The anger that’s sitting on his chest and pressing down on his heart, crushing around his lungs, is powerful and Isak needs to feed it, deserves to understand why Even’s changed his mind.

“I can’t - ” - Even sighs – “I can’t do this with you, I’m sorry.”

Isak knows he must look stony, angry, he can feel it pricking at his skin, millions of tiny needles sharp and insistent; at least Even has the good manners to look at him as he says it.

“Nothing’s happened,” Isak begs lamely, anger turning to mush, fast replaced with hurt, need, “isn’t it worth trying?”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on and I apologise if I have,” Even says, like he’s been practising that line and can’t wait to get it out, “I want you here as my colleague and hopefully my friend but that’s as far as it will go.”

Isak’s jaw is tight and he nods at his arms, crossed over his waist, as he bites his tongue, stewing in the nasty quietness before he huffs, leaves, making his way to the assembly hall for dance. He’s hoping Even might come after him, explain, Isak would even accept that it was a momentary freak-out and Even had a few seconds of doubt but now he’s fine, he wants Isak, Isak would tell him not to worry, kiss him softly. 

Even doesn’t follow, and Isak’s steps are all off.

*

Isak storms into the last part of the week. He remembers the words Even said, about being colleagues, Chris’s half-joking comments about professionalism. He keeps them at the forefront of his mind, even when he reviews the writing project he wanted to give the class, something he thought he could giggle about with Even. He’s about to discard it when he decides it doesn’t matter, it’s a cute project and the class will like it, putting his personal issues to the side to get the kids on track.  


He rushes off to deliver the behaviour report on Helga to Jonas, who collates them for kids’ families, stepping back into his room and finding Even there, sitting in his chair unashamedly. Isak’s irritated and he knows it shows, Even getting up, smiling at Isak briefly.

“I’ve just given my report on Helga Nohr to Jonas,” he tells Even, “if that’s what you’re checking on.”

Even nods, hands on his hips before they disappear into the small pockets at the front of his trousers, twisting his hips slightly in obvious discomfort, not wanting to leave.

“Is there something else, Even?” Isak asks curtly, “because I’m busy,” he adds, waiting impatiently.

Even takes too long to answer, staring at Isak before looking away, words on his tongue but not leaving his mouth, evidently, making Isak snap.

“You are in the wrong for this whole situation,” Isak hisses, “I can’t believe you let me think that you care about me - ”

“ – I do - ”

“ – you do? You accused me of wanting to use you for a one-night stand, pretty much, yet all you’ve done is grope me at school and now you’re not interested anymore,” Isak finishes, blazing.

“That wasn’t what happened,” Even says quietly.

“That’s how you made me feel, how you’ve made me think about it,” Isak sulks.

“Can you shut the door please, Isak?” Even asks, Isak sighing but going to do it, Even coming away from the desk so they’re slightly closer, fiddling with his hair before he looks Isak in the eye.

“I know I’ve given you mixed signals,” Even starts, Isak huffing sarcastically, “I want to be honest with you.”

Isak feels his stomach drop. He should have known Even had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. It would make sense. He wonders if they’re unhappy, if that’s why this budding relationship between himself and Even has managed to take off but Even can’t cope with the guilt. Isak always finds himself in this situation. He’s never enough to be first choice.

“You always say about how great I am, how _perfect_ I am,” Even half laughs, “and I’m not, Isak. I’m worried that you have these high, strict expectations of me because I’m going to disappoint you.”

“High expectations?” Isak echoes, questioning.

“The way you look at me sometimes, I can’t take it,” Even says, face contorted, “like you think I have it all figured out. I don’t.”

“No, I – I don’t think that, necessarily,” Isak mutters, even though he knows what Even is saying is true.

“I know it’s cheesy,” Even smiles, “but the thought of things happening between us and you realising that I am in no way perfect... I might disappoint you. I can’t let that happen.”

Isak stills, before he laughs, not for long, but enough for Even to frown.

“How is that funny?” Even asks, annoyed.

“Listen to yourself, Even,” Isak groans, “you’re cutting me off because I think you’re a good person?”

“No,” Even insists, “but I told you, you needed taking care of, and I – actually – I do too,” Even finishes, “you should be with someone who can give that to you.”

“I’m not so self-absorbed that I need everything to be about me, Even. You don’t know me. You’re making a lot of assumptions here. It sounds like you think I’m some pathetic princess who wants to be waited on hand and foot,” Isak frowns.

“Obviously I don’t think that,” Even sighs.

“What you’re describing is a healthy relationship,” Isak says, deliberately slowly, “two people who look after each other. I know I’m younger than you but I am capable of doing that.”

“I just don’t want you to think you’re getting someone who you’re not getting,” Even stresses, “because there’s a lot you don’t know about me, either.”  
Isak pinches the bridge of his nose, wanting to laugh, or scream, opting for a smile instead.

“This is why people date, you ridiculous idiot,” Isak grits his teeth, “because all we know about each other right now is that we make each other laugh and we find each other attractive. I _don’t_ think you’re perfect, believe me.”

“You don’t?” Even asks, eyebrow raised, Isak smirking, “not in the slightest.”

“We should date, then,” Even concludes. 

“Ok,” Isak agrees, moving closer, still wary, Even picking up a pen and scribbling down something.

“That’s my number,” he says, “text me, maybe we could do something this weekend?”

Isak smiles and nods, picking up the paper and twisting it in his fingers. He wishes he wasn’t so easy to fall for someone, Even being no exception, perhaps the exception, because Isak is truly gone. His fantasy life is all Even, concocting daydreams of their mornings out and nights in, Even’s hands on his waist and below. They arrange a Saturday day-time date, Even texting Isak his address, insisting he’ll make brunch. Isak’s not nervous beforehand, even if he does change numerous times before deciding on some slightly less provocative than the impossibly tight pink shirt but still fitted and pastel, driving over to Even’s and waiting patiently to be allowed access into the complex. 

“Good morning,” Even greets on the intercom, buzzing Isak through until Isak finds Flat 21, Even opening the door with wet hair and a smile.

“It’s not morning, it’s 12.30,” Isak corrects him, Even laughing, bringing him into the flat and through to the kitchen. The radio is on quietly, the smell of pepper, chilli, as Even cooks, scrambling eggs, Isak taking a seat as he watches. He spies freshly baked bread, butter, a tea pot that smells like herbal tea, perhaps lavender, as Even messily moves around the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” Isak says happily, “I hope you’re true to your word and a decent cook, Naesheim.”

“You’ll be very satisfied,” Even assures him, surprising Isak by reaching out to stroke under his chin briefly before snapping back to work. Isak revels in the small touch, tentatively joining Even at the hob as he grabs teacups, pouring the tea. Even sings along to the music, Isak watching in amusement, and they chatter work, Chris, Eskild, enjoying seeing Even at home, peering at the artwork decorating his walls and the strange ornaments he has on the windowsills. Even demands they go outside, Isak groaning because of the Christmas crowds but he must admit he’s enjoying it as they buy mulled wine and get merrily tipsy.

“See, Scrooge, Christmas is the best,” Even teases, elbowing Isak who sips his mulled wine in agreement. 

Even seems to delight in it all, the music, the tastes of cranberries and honey, the little stalls selling intricate fabrics and decorations, Isak following happily. 

“What do you fancy?” Even asks suddenly, “I’m sorry if this is boring you.”

“No!” Isak says, a little too forcefully, “Christmas, is just – it’s not my favourite time.”

“Why?” Even asks, curious, cuter than usual in a soft grey beanie, gloved hands covering his cup as they stroll through markets. 

“Can we sit down somewhere?” Isak asks, and they wander around before spying a small space they can grab, blissfully near a heater, Even helping them to a blanket as they snuggle in tightly, laughing at how the blanket can’t cover Even’s long legs, Isak eventually nuzzling into Even’s side and Even joking about sacrificing his legs to the Winter Gods as he gives Isak the blanket instead, Isak reaching out to rub his warm hands on Even’s thighs.

“I’m warm like this,” Even promises, voice deep, close to Isak’s ear as Isak snuggles into him.

“Why don’t you like Christmas?” Even persists, Isak feeling safe and comfortable as he burrows into Even, Even running his thumb under Isak’s jaw, stroking him gently. 

“I don’t get on that well with my parents,” Isak confides, “I’m an only child and we’re a small family. It’s always a bit depressing.”

“I’m sorry,” Even says, which everyone says whenever Isak opens up about his Mama and his distant Papa, but he knows Even’s words aren’t empty.

“My Mama has problems,” Isak continues, downing the last of his now cool mulled wine, “she’s schizophrenic.”

“Ah,” Even says in sympathy, arm tight around Isak, “I’m sorry, Isak. Is she well?”

Isak nods, closing his eyes, he’s far too comfortable lying against Even with the warmth of his drink coursing through him, he could practically drift off.

“I’m glad,” Even says. Isak can hear the smile in his voice. He lets himself be stroked and petted by Even, shocked but happy when he feels a kiss against his lips, kissing Even back. 

“I, - I have some health issues too,” Even tells him, a firm hand still running through Isak’s curls, “I have bipolar. I don’t know if you know what it means, but, um - ”

“ – oh, I do, yeah,” Isak says, shuffling round so he can look at Even, taking his hand and kissing it, “and, are you well?”  


Even smiles at that, nodding wistfully.

“Good,” Isak grins, kissing his fingertips before settling back into his comfy snuggle. He’s not sure how long it lasts, their casual embrace as drinkers and revellers get rowdier, accidentally falling into Isak who’s happily curled up before they decide to make a move before they get covered in beer or worse. 

“Let’s get a taxi, I’ll drop you off first,” Even suggests, Isak accepting it but he’s unable to not push it, whispering at Even, “I could come back with you?”

Even groans in want, closing his eyes, smiling as he waves down a taxi but shaking his head.

“It was a date, right?” he asks Isak, “let’s have another date. I like the anticipation.”

“Ugh,” Isak moans, heading into the taxi as he reels off his address and takes Even’s hand before he’s dropped off, albeit reluctantly.

“Want to come up? I have hot chocolate,” Isak winks as the driver pulls in and waits for him to leave, Even shaking his head with a grin, “I don’t want that awful hot chocolate, Isak.”

“Ok,” Isak sighs, “if you say so.”

“I do,” Even agrees, Isak leaning in for a kiss and offering Even money for the taxi which he refuses, waiting to see Isak get into the building before Isak hears them drive off. Perhaps it should feel bittersweet, that he didn’t get Even into his bed and his arms, but as Isak swoons up the stairs to the apartment he doesn’t feel anything other than content.

*

Isak knows he should feel guilty as he shoves a fourth chocolate into his mouth but as he looks at Chris, currently shovelling four at the same time into his, he decides to cut himself some slack.

“We’re shitty teachers,” Isak says with his mouth full, tearing his way through the advent calendar he hid on the fifth day of advent because he and Chris decided none of the kids deserved it, plus the sugar high at the end of the day was a nightmare. 

“We deserve it more than them,” Chris huffs, swallowing speedily before grabbing more like a starved animal, “why do people think kids deserve so much more than adults? Why is it my nephew deserves 1000 krone and I get jack shit?”

“Yeah,” Isak agrees, letting Chris rant as they scoff the sweets and wash it down with lukewarm tea.

“It really annoys me, Isak,” Chris says, finger pointing to demonstrate just how annoyed he is, “I’m their handsome, accomplished, fucking awesome grandchild and they give that ugly nine year old a decent amount of cash while I get a set of highlighter pens. It’s disgusting,” he continues, finishing off the advent calendar and chucking it dramatically behind him.

“Mm,” Isak adds, a bit sick after the fourth one, even though he just watched Chris polish off at least 12.

“What do you think, huh?” Chris asks, referring to his elf hat. It’s the last day before the Christmas break and everyone’s supposed to make an effort. Chris flicks the bauble on top, somehow pulling off the look, through sheer force of personality.

“It’s better than your literacy day ‘costume’,” Isak air quotes, Chris reaching out and grabbing his halo but there’s no fight in him and he lets Isak snatch it back without a problem.

“Curls with his little halo and wings,” Chris laughs, “if only they knew the truth, that all you deserve for Christmas is a big, fat sack of coals.”

“I’ve been good,” Isak says wryly, adjusting the halo, the words feeling flat as he looks down at the ripped up calendar, the chocolate he stole from his own class still sugary and delicious on his tongue.

“Yeah? Even will be dressed up as Santa today,” Chris winks, “you’ll have to go and see if he’s got a special present for you.”

“I intend to,” Isak smirks, leaning on Chris’s desk before deciding to go and find Santa, “you still coming to the Christmas party next week?”

“Dunno” Chris shrugs, wiping away chocolate from his lips, “as much as the idea of having to stare at the man who's just dumped me, you and Even pawing at each other all night, Eva breathing tequila all over my face, Magnus asking the dumbest, most irritating questions all evening…”

“Come on man,” Isak pleads, “I really want you to come, it won’t be the same if you’re not there judging the girl’s dresses and the guy’s chat up lines all night…”

“I am an excellent party goer,” Chris agrees, throwing his chocolate-covered tissue at Isak. Isak picks it up and throws it in the bin instead, swearing as he misses and has to go and pick it up to throw it away again before he goes back to Year 5 and admires the festive decorations which he can’t actually take credit for, it was all Kari and the kids. He’s cheerful, allowing the kids to choose their activities today because it’s _Christmas_ after all, the other projects he wanted to get done finished with, collected, neatly marked and tucked away into folders and class books. 

Isak’s a little jealous of friends who worked in high schools and get Christmas dinners, but when Christina sends him through a photo of it, he mentally takes it back: watery gravy and very unwell looking turkey reside sadly on her plate. Isak’s happy with the Christmas sandwiches Eskild made him: turkey, cranberry, bacon and stuffing, Chris looking at them in awe and pestering Isak about it until he’s shown Chris a photo of Eskild and let Chris have a bite, squealing at him as Chris, naturally, takes the piss, devouring almost half of the sandwich.

It’s lunch time when Even strolls in, clad in red, white fur, a cheap white beard, everyone clapping and hollering, making the same old jokes about sitting on his knee and getting a gift. Eva’s vaguely dressed as a Wise Woman, Mahdi as Jesus, Isak enjoying the atmosphere as everyone clambers for biscuits and treats and discusses next week’s party.

“Come and see me after school,” Even whispers to Isak when no one is paying them attention, a squeeze around Isak’s waist that leaves Isak wanting just a little bit more. Even doesn’t wait for a response, flitting back out, Isak excited for the end of the day when he warmly says goodbye to the kids and fights off their questions about what happened to their advent calendar, touched as they hand him cards and gifts. He didn’t expect much but his desk is filling up as they hand out presents to friends and to him, the telltale sign of wine in bags that their parents must have chosen for him. Isak’s not a big wine drinker but he’s confident he’ll get through it with Even or Eskild, maybe even Chris, collecting them carefully as he waves off the kids who can’t resist a quick sprint to Year 6 to giggle at Even as Santa once more before heading off for Christmas break.  


Isak all but tiptoes into Even’s classroom, Even sat at the back, legs crossed, shovelling wrapping paper rubbish into a black binbag.

“Ah, it’s my angel,” he smiles, Isak rolling his eyes as he makes his way over, halo wonky.

“Good day?”

“Yeah, it was,” Isak smiles, “you have fun, Santa?”

Even gestures to the mess on the ground as he continues to pick it up.

“You got them presents, while I ate my class’s Advent calendar,” Isak notes, making a face, Even huffing in amusement before he looks up at Isak in a way that makes Isak freeze. He pats his thigh, Isak glancing backwards to the door, but when he checks Even again he can’t refuse that offer, walking closer and placing his hand on Even’s shoulder as he manoeuvres himself into Even’s lap, legs thrown over Even, ass firmly on the patted thigh as Even grab his knee.

“Have you been a good boy, Isak?” Even asks, Isak desperately clinging onto sanity which is providing difficult when Even blatantly stares at his mouth, before making eye contact, hand warm and tough on Isak’s knee as he snakes his way up Isak’s thigh. 

“Um,” Isak eloquently manages to get out, “I – think so?” he offers, pulling down the offputting white beard that’s hiding Even’s beautiful mouth too much for Isak’s liking, holding himself back from planting a kiss there, Even’s fingers teasing and ticklish as he forces Isak to spread his legs ever so slightly, long arm easily reaching so that he’s the closest to Isak’s crotch. 

“Lucky for you, Isak, I think you’ve been a very good boy,” Even says, silky smooth as his fingers dance over Isak’s top button, his zipper, the back of his hand rubbing across Isak’s hardening dick. Isak slaps it away instinctively even though his breath is picking up.

“The amount of times I’ve tried to get you to put out and _now_ is the timing you pick?” Isak asks, incredulous, Even squeezing his thigh in warning.

“Good boys don’t talk back,” Even says, Isak biting back the sounds that want to escape, gasping as Even continues to tease him with touches from the back of his hand, fingers, Isak’s hand leaving Even’s shoulder to grab onto his neck. He falls into Even slightly, mouth open on his neck as he shoves the beard away, irritated, gentle gasps into Even’s skin as Even plays with him before taking his hand away just as Isak is hard and zipping him back up.

“Wha…,” Isak moans, “what?!” bringing himself back as his lips leave Even’s neck and he looks at Even in wonder.

“You’re right, Isak, now isn’t the time,” Even says, a paradox as he kisses Isak so sweetly despite his cruelty.

“Oh my god,” Isak complains, inbetween kisses, “I can’t believe you just did that!”

“No?” Even asks, finally ripping off the beard for good, “that’s for kissing Chris.”

“What?!” Isak laughs, still on Even’s lap as he giggles, clinging to his neck, “that’s not fair, I had no idea you liked me!”

“Don’t worry, I have plans for you,” Even says ominously, Isak wriggling, squealing with amusement as Even throws them both down on the ground, Isak splayed out beneath him as he reaches for Even’s cheap Santa hat, throwing it aside, Even’s fingers in Isak’s curls before they kiss again. Isak is hyperaware of the surroundings, the fact anyone could walk in, it’s doing nothing to kill his boner but Even mercifully must know that as he stops, kissing Isak’s eyelids for good luck before he jumps up and helps Isak back to his feet. 

“So, er, the plans you have,” Isak says, out of breath as he holds Even’s hand and swings it, “what are they?”

“You want to come over this evening?” Even asks, “stay over,” he adds, smirking, “plus I have your Christmas present.”

“Oh, I have yours!” Isak remembers, excited, “we can open them.”

“You have to wait until Christmas Day,” Even frowns, “you really are naughty,” he winks, Isak hoping the blush he can feel on his cheeks isn’t glaringly obvious to Even, not wanting to expose how easily affected he is by Even’s words as Even yanks his arm and makes Isak trip, giggling, closer to him, Even running his hand up Isak’s arm before he pings the cheap elastic band of his angel wings. Isak’s about to grab Even and kiss him until it hurts when the classroom squeaks open – Isak’s glad to know it gives a warning signal – to hollers and wolf whistles, Isak twisting his neck to see Chris, Eva, Jonas and Magnus.

“Get out,” Even says, waving them away with his free hand, Isak staring them down, Jonas smirking at them with his arms folded, Chris blissfully quiet. They disperse, Isak turning back to Even and squeezing his hand again before letting go, Even’s smug smile a gift enough.

*

Isak almost forgets his present for Even, having to run back upstairs and into the apartment to collect it before he sets off again. He forgot his thoughtful present on first try but the lube was the first thing he packed in an overnight bag, of course. He’s nervous energy by the time he gets to Even, waiting impatiently as the door until Even finally opens, welcoming him in. 

“Can we get takeaway?” Even asks, “I fancy take out food.”

“Yeah,” Isak agrees, opening his bag and grabbing the cans he noticed the way ready to chill in Even’s fridge, his keys, charger and to his mortification, the lube falling out with them. Even picks it up wordlessly and throws it back in Isak’s bag, Isak’s embarrassment coming out as laughter, Even giggling too.

“You’re very presumptuous,” Even says, eyebrows high, Isak groaning, but giggling too as he closes his bag, sighing.

“Of course that had to happen,” he laughs, shoving the beer into Even’s fridge, leaving two out for now, Even quick as takes Isak in at the waist, wrapping his arms around him as he nuzzles Isak’s ear.

“I can’t wait,” Even says, kissing his face, kittenlike and ticklish, Isak shoving him off playfully to grab a beer. 

“Let’s eat first,” he suggests, and they waste time suggesting at least twelve different options before deciding on pizza, Isak’s original choice, Even setting his living room nicely with background music and Christmas candles, Isak teasing him for it. Isak drinks slower than usual, not wanting to feel affected by the alcohol, before he lights up, excited.

“Your gift!” he yells at Even, clambering off the sofa to retrieve it, “here, open it,” he demands softly, Even picking it up and feeling the edges, turning it off in his hands.

“I really don’t like opening gifts before Christmas,” he protests, Isak tutting, leaning in to Even and tilting his head slightly.

“Go wild, Even,” Isak insists, the literal devil on Even’s shoulder, Even placing the golden-wrapped present on his coffee table as he shakes his head, firm and authoritative, rubbing his thumb over Isak’s hand before pinching his chin.

“It goes under the Christmas tree, until Christmas Day,” Even says, repeating himself, Isak sighing with frustration but getting up and placing it under Even’s tasteful tree.

“It has a story to it,” Isak whines, “I wanted to explain it to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll get it,” Even grins, “and if I don’t, I’ll just call you. Save you from Christmas hell with the parents.”

“Ok,” Isak gives in, curling into Even who accepts him, a kiss on top of his head before he wriggles out of it, picking up a thin package and heading back to his warm spot on the sofa, Isak lying back down on him as Even plonks it on his chest.

“You can open yours though,” Even compromises, Isak tapping his fingers on it, excited, not needing to be told twice as he opens the package delicately, turning the white gold photo frame and smiling, looking at the gift.

“Even,” he says, sincere, happy, “this is perfect.”

He looks back at the carefully drawn picture of Isak with his class, copied from the school photos taken every September, a neat message in the corner of the picture.

_Isak’s first year of teaching at Bekkulaget – 2017_

“I thought it would be a nice keepsake for you to always remember your first year,” Even murmurs, stroking Isak’s thick hair, “and she did a good job, right?”

“Yeah,” Isak says, unable to not grin deliriously at the detailed, beautiful drawing, “it’s so thoughtful. I love it.”

He can’t tear his eyes away, appreciating the small details and the skill that went into the gift, Even happy to let Isak appreciate the present as they sit in silence, Isak’s hand on Even’s thigh and Even constantly moving from Isak’s hair to his jaw, neck, his waist, touching and exploring, Isak welcoming it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to open my present?” Isak asks, peering up at Even who still looks beautiful upside down, Even taking Isak’s face in his hands and kissing the corner of his mouth.

“No, baby, I want to open it on Christmas Day,” Even says, Isak warm at the pet name, kissing the inside of Even’s wrist as it passes his mouth before Even can smooth circles into Isak’s face with his thumb, accepting Even’s wishes. He’s so ready for this, for Even, moving fast, pouncing on top of him and pinning Even down. It’s the equivalent of a lamb holding down a lion, Isak pinning Even’s wrists to the cushion he’s propped up by, but Even seems to be amused, letting Isak do it.

“You’ve been a nightmare for me,” Isak accuses, “I’ve been so – so – desperate! - ”

“ – yeah, that’s obvious,” Even teases, leaning up to bite Isak’s chin, making his mouth fall open, “don’t you know how good something is once you’ve had to work for it, sweetheart?” he asks, slipping out of Isak’s grip without a fight to put his hands on Isak’s hips as Isak straddles him.

“Why?” Isak asks, “why wait, when you could just take what you want?” he asks, intrigued by the reasoning, moving so that he can perch over Even’s crotch, feeling Even against him. 

“Delayed gratification,” Even jokes, eyes half shut as Isak rubs his ass over Even’s covered cock, “sometimes it’s worth it, Isak.”

Isak gasps as he rocks over Even, Even’s hands ensuring he can’t fall off the side and bang his head into the coffee table but allowing Isak free reign to bring Even to hardness, Isak leaning in to undo Even’s buttons and push down at his chest, smacking his hand into skin as Even shoves Isak’s shirt out of his jeans.

“Let’s do this in bed,” Isak suggests, coming to a shaky stop, before he leads Even into the bedroom of Even’s small flat, Even turning Isak round to kiss him before he rids Isak of his shirt.

“I thought you wanted to rip it and fuck me in it,” Isak pouts, Isak’s tongue everywhere as they kiss almost angrily, Isak helping Even out of his shirt, pulling in Even’s belt as they topple onto the bed, declothing and noisy.

“You look too pretty in it for me to rip it,” Even breaks away to say before going back to devouring Isak whole, Isak clinging to Even, Even pulling away his boxers, finally curling his hand around Isak’s cock to make up for working him into a near frenzy at school. Isak’s hungry, wanting to see, Even standing up to free himself of jeans, boxers, half-hard cock evident, Isak hunching forward to take it in both hands, looking up at Even.

“You know what you look like, like this?” Even asks, Isak using his hand to jerk Even off, appreciating the thickness, the length, unable to not scoot forward even more and taste it. Even jerks forward slightly, a broken moan, as his hand rests on the back of Isak’s head and Isak licks up to the thick, pink head before teasing Even with a suck of it before he licks back down, tilting his head and spreading Even’s thigh slightly, dipping down to tongue Even’s balls, heavy and fair-haired, Even groaning loudly.

“Isak,” he stutters, like he isn’t able to believe Isak, pretty and snarky, is tonguing his balls wetly, sucking gently as he moves around the ballsac, right hand still on Even’s cock, keeping him hard and ready.

“You like that, baby?” Even asks, Isak nodding as much as he can as his neck is twisted, head dipped low, before he stops and moves his mouth to Even’s dick, taking Even in and testing himself to see how much he can take before Even hits the back of his throat, an encouraging hand on Isak’s head, Even slipping a thumb into Isak’s wet mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart, good boy,” Even tells him, Isak noisy as he sucks, drool escaping from the corners of his lips, making his mouth wet and slack, the noise when Even’s balls hit his chin slapping echoing in the quietness of the bedroom, Isak enjoying the slip and slide of Even’s dick mixed with his wet tongue, the taste of Even until Even drags himself out, Isak’s mouth open and following his cock, not ready to give it up.

“Jesus,” Even mutters before kissing Isak messily, Isak giving it back, before he’s shoved down and Even grabs his thighs, opening them without hesitation, looking at Isak as he sucks two fingers and nudges Isak’s balls, stroking over the sensitive skin and pressing into Isak’s hole. Isak slaps a hand onto Even, pulling him tight, head thrown back as Even edges in, arching his back, Even fast and needy as he pulls out to pull on the rim, loosening Isak. 

“You feel so warm,” Even tells him, “nice and tight.”

Isak moans, clenching around him before he stumbles back, hands splayed on the duvet as he lets Even in closer, scissoring him up as his cock stands proudly, wet and hard as it slaps against his stomach. He looks down and it’s obscene, Even’s wrist twisted as he keeps going, wanting Isak nicely teased and spread out before he eases his dick into him. Isak gasps as Even retreats, heading to his bottom drawer and grabbing a fistful of condoms, a bottom of lube, eyebrows raised as he looks back at Isak.

“See? I’m prepared too,” he grins, Isak giggling, gasping as Even lubes his fingers and goes back into his ass, coaxing him open.

“I’m good,” Isak breathes out, needing something thicker, deeper, Even nodding his consent before he picks up a condom.

“We, uh, we don’t need one,” Isak rushes, “if you’re good. I’m – I’m good – if you want to leave it,” he says, chest heaving and flushed pink, Even weighing it up silently before nodding, the condoms pushed aside, Isak watching as Even helps himself to a dollop of the lube and spreads it over his cock.

“Turn over,” Even mutters, Isak’s cock twitching at the tone as he obeys, ass up, Even pressing his back down so he’s slightly arched and Isak twists his neck to watch as Even kneels, lining his cock up with Isak’s wet, loosened hole, Isak letting out an uncomfortable moan as he feels the thick head press in. Even’s quiet, moving in gently but with meaning, Isak letting his head fall into the fresh smelling duvet as he feels the comfortable but burning stretch, squealing as Even pushes in the last thick part of his cock, balls slapping against Isak.

“Yeah?” Even checks, grinding his hips slightly, Isak giving a small, affirmative nod, before Even rocks them together, gently checking Isak’s rim as he pulls back and pushes back in, getting used to the feel of Isak just as Isak does with his cock, the biggest Isak’s taken by far.

“God, it feels,” Isak gurgles, choked, “it feels so deep,” he moans, Even laughing breathlessly as he moves up, starting to thrust, testing them both. Isak reaches for his cock, pre-cum collecting at the tip, jerking it slowly as Even begins to build up an easy rhythm, eliciting gasps and panting from them both. Isak is much looser now, the thick drag of Even’s dick forcing Isak to accommodate him, and it’s easier. Even takes his hips and starts to fuck him faster, until he’s pounding Isak, Isak’s hand falling off his cock as he squeals and pants, the slapping sounds of sex overwhelming him, until Even thrusts left and Isak feels like he can _taste_ Even’s dick he’s so deep, white noise overtaking him as Even hammers home at his sweet spot. 

“You’re taking it so good,” Even grits out, barely any voice as he fucks into Isak so fast, “you’re so good for me, baby.”

Isak can’t form a response, the praise making him feel faint, just moaning, on the verge of crying as Even continues to hit the spot just right. He’s so close, so close, if Even would just angle, just go a little more forcefully, just – until – 

He loses it, prolonged, loud moans of please, and yes, and oh, coming untouched as Even flies forward and continues to take him hard and fast, Isak sweating, crying out until he hears Even roar and feels the flood of come, warming him inside and spilling into him, it feels never ending, Isak sensitive and sore, yelping as Even sighs and pulls his softening dick out of Isak, dropping onto the opposite side of the bed, gasping happily.

“Oh, wow,” Even laughs, mumbles, Isak turning over with great difficulty, wanting to see his flushed, pretty face, planting a quick kiss on it.

“Yeah,” Isak agrees, groaning as he moves and finds a tissue, wiping his spunk on it and throwing it away, “wow.”

They lie like that, before they’ve caught their breaths once more, Even darting a hand under Isak’s back and Isak grinning before he allows himself be cuddled. Even’s narrow hips press up against his, Isak finding comfort in Even’s shoulder, nuzzling down.

“That was worth the wait,” Even says, drunk on his orgasm, kissing the tip of Isak’s nose.

“It was,” Isak says, giving in and agreeing, nuzzling Even’s lips and they fall asleep like that, curled up, satisfied.

*

Isak likes the time of year, winter is over and spring is a possibility, lighter mornings and evenings and a hint of warmth back in the air. He can’t believe in only a few months’ time he’ll have completed his first year of teaching and be a fully-fledged teacher, no longer allowed to claim he’s “newly qualified,” his go-to excuse for literally everything. He’s nervous, but there’s still time to go, and after a turbulent start to it he feels he’s found his feet, his flair for it. It might not be forever but he doesn’t need to know, embracing the uncertainty of life happily.

There’s one thing he is certain of, though, the only thing, and he’s quite sure it’s the only thing that matters.

He switches off the lights to Year 5, heading straight opposite for Year 6, letting himself in.

“Come on,” he eyes, folding his arms, “no more late evenings.”

“I’ll only be a minute, baby,” Even says, typing away, Isak looking over his displays until he gets to Even’s desk. There’s pens and colours and half-finished pictures by the kids, but at the left-hand side of his computer there’s a small stand with a photo of them together, plus the Christmas present Isak had framed last year. Isak had asked the children to write a story about a mermaid and a pirate, choosing his favourite one, from the ever creative Thomas, as a story he thought applied to him and Even. The mermaid rescued the pirate from the powerful ocean and the pirate renounced his piracy ways before they built a cottage under the sea. It was funny, childlike, and clever, and Isak loved it, getting Thomas to decorate it before framing it for Even as their love story, in another universe. 

“Come on, Even,” Isak repeats, standing behind him and playing with the tufts of hair as the back of his neck, “want to get you home.”

“Ok, ok,” Even sighs, leaning round to kiss Isak’s wrist before he sends his last email and logs off. Isak waves goodbye to Chris and waits patiently as Even signs them out of school, Isak looking over at the LGBT Heroes board. His small contribution to it was stuck up sometime around February, a picture of a slightly smiling Isak, Year 5 teacher, LGBT and proud. 

“Baby, let’s go home,” Even calls to him, almost out the door, ready to drive them back before they cook, mark some work, relax for the evening. Isak nods, still taken by that board even months later. His photo sits nicely there, Even making the perfect neighbour as their photos and summaries sit side by side. 

“Ok, coming,” he says, pressing this thumb over the picture that’s slightly peeled off already, and he smiles.

*

**Author's Note:**

> maybe you saw me complaining earlier on twitter (i'm @ughasif_x) because ao3 FUCKING HATES ME. i spent over an hour sorting out for the formatting lmao. this was supposed to end on an angsty note but the word count was getting a bit out of hand, so. i'll try to update every 4-5 days but definitely once a week. shout out to my lovely gc who listen to my dumb ideas & complaining <33


End file.
